


The Scarlet Neckerchief

by jappfrost



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Gwaine, Hurt Lancelot, Hurt Merlin, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Arthur Pendragon, Jealous Gwaine, Jealous Gwen, Jealous Lancelot, Jealous Percival, Kidnapping, M/M, Merlin has no magic, Misunderstandings, Oblivious Gwaine, Oblivious Merlin, Possessive Arthur, Protective Arthur, Protective Gwaine, Protective Percival, Whump, Wilddeoren, flangst, merlin whump, protective Lancelot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-17 10:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5866480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jappfrost/pseuds/jappfrost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a great time for Camelot. Morgana's plans have been thwarted and King Arthur sits on his rightful throne once again.</p><p>But during the celebrations, a simple misunderstanding leads to confusion, heartache, and the discovery of love. And with Arthur, Lancelot and Gwaine too caught up fighting for Merlin's affections, an unexpected foe reveals himself and kidnaps Merlin.</p><p>Will the three of them be able to save Merlin in time?</p><p>And most importantly, who gets to win Merlin's heart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've finally done it! I've written a massive fic. Yes, I said 'written' because this is finished. You guys don't have to worry about me not updating this, which is sadly not the case for my other fic, Too Cold for Angels to Fly. That one is to be put on hold until inspiration strikes for me again, unfortunately. So for those waiting updates there, I'm really really really sorry! I do hope that this fic will rectify that though. This is a 42-days long product of labor and I really did have a grand time writing it. And in that light, I hope you have a grand time reading it too.
> 
> Well, here it goes!

**_LANCELOT (I)_ **

Lancelot lets out a loud huff as he sits down to rest inside the tent intended for the competitors in the dueling tournament. He has won his first match of the day against Sir Kay but has yet another match after noon against whoever’s going to win between Arthur and Elyan whose match is about to begin in just a few moments.

He will most likely be facing off with Arthur. After all, the king has had years of formal training under his belt whereas Elyan has only been recently granted knighthood after they reclaimed Camelot from Morgana’s attempt to usurp the throne, which is of course the reason for the festivity and the tournament.

But even if everybody seems to know that it is going to be Arthur who wins the faceoff against Elyan, Lancelot thinks it is still a worthy match to witness. Unfortunately for him, he has to miss out on the proceedings so he can take a little respite before he sets out to fight again.

He takes off his right gauntlet and vambrace to look forlornly at the wound Sir Kay has inflicted him earlier during their match. The other knight has been resilient and brash, and to be honest, Lancelot has been caught off guard. The other knight has been determined to win. He can’t blame him. The next round’s going to be the finals, after all. And wouldn’t it have been glorious to duel the king at the culmination of the tournament? Gods know Lancelot feels rather honored at the moment.

His left forearm is bleeding, and rather profusely at that. But it is not as life threatening as it seems, or so Gaius said when he had an initial check on the wound. He’s been rather busy checking on the wounds of other participants still and having been notified that his wound is not so fatal, he graciously tells Gaius to look after the ones who have had it worse.

The physician has looked at him gratefully although worry still shows on his face. He informs Lancelot that he will have Merlin check up on him as soon as the battle between Elyan and Arthur starts. Duty as servant to the king before duty as assistant the physician, of course.

Lancelot just sits there patiently, studying his wound and when he’s had enough of that, the fabric of the tent. He listens attentively to the raucous energy of the viewers in attendance. It is getting louder, signaling the start of a highly anticipated showing from their king. As for Lancelot, that signals that he is about to see one of his most beloved friends.

A few beats of a second and Merlin’s come running in the tent, all gangly limbs and towels and overflowing basins.

“Sorry, Lancelot The prat’s being his usual pratty self, not letting me go until the very last minute before his match begins." The servant babbles as he struggles to balance the basin, sloshing water here and there. Lancelot has half a mind to assist him but the sting on his arm tells him that he will not be of any help.

So he just sits there, mouth curved up in the meekest of smiles. Merlin never fails to make him smile. Even at his clumsiest, the man is just so endearing.

“Granted he doesn’t know that it’s you who’s in need of urgent medical attention.” Merlin talks on, oblivious to the growing amusement of his supposed patient. “I’m pretty sure he’d have let me go if he knows it’s you and not _‘some idiot knight who can’t parry or duck for the life of him.’_ “

Lancelot snorts at that. That’s definitely something that Arthur would do and say.

“So, let me see where you’re hurt.” Merlin tells him and before Lancelot can lift his arm or open his mouth, Merlin beats him to both.

“Oh no! It’s bleeding!” Merlin’s cheerful demeanor vanishes and in its place is a frown and a huge pout that Lancelot suddenly has a hard time taking his eyes off of. _Wait, what?_

Lancelot shakes his head. _Get your head together._

Merlin’s worried. And Lancelot, ever the gentleman, wishes to wipe off that look of worry too. So he extricates his arm from Merlin’s grasp and smiles softly at the servant.

“It doesn’t hurt that much, Merlin.” Lancelot tries to hide his wince as he begins to put back his gear. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Oh don’t give me that, Lancelot.” Merlin slaps the equipment away and he grabs hold of the knight’s arm once more. “It really is rather serious, Lancelot. Kay ought to know how control himself. Seriously, you knights have no sense of self-preservation.” Merlin harrumphs.

Lancelot laughs at that. Merlin’s just so adorable and his heart lurches at that. Could it be that he’s actually falling in love with him? He doesn’t know why he is surprised. They have known each other for quite a few years now, and they have shared a lot of intimate moments together. Ever since that fateful day in the woods, Merlin’s been nothing but endearing, kind, brave, and caring. No one can ever not love this man. With his unique beauty of alabaster skin, doe-ears, stormy blue eyes, sharp cheekbones and bow lips, anyone who’s ever had the chance to know him will inescapably fall for him.

The searing pain of a sharp tug to his left arm brings him back to the present. There's now a red cloth wrapped around his wound.

“Sorry.” Merlin whispers apologetically. “I can’t very well stitch the wound away. And I don’t really know how to heal wounds of this gravity without the Gaius' assistance yet. You’ll just have to make do with this neckerchief for now.” Merlin taps the said accessory which Lancelot belatedly notices is now out of the servant’s neck, and he has to take another few seconds to keep his gaze away from the enticing long neck.

“Er, thanks.” Lancelot stutter. He’s pretty sure he is sporting a huge blush now.

“You’re welcome!” Merlin grins at him. And gods, does Lancelot need any more reason to fall heads over heels in love. “Now rest up so you can go out and beat the prat later, yeah?”

The knight, man of few words as he is, can only nod in response.

“Now let’s go see how Elyan’s faring against him.” Merlin laughs and then drags Lancelot out by his healthy hand to the stands.

**_ARTHUR (I)_ **

As predicted Arthur wins his match against Elyan, although he did draw it out so that the audience are assured of a spectacle to watch. It also helps that Elyan is also an excellent swordsman, only needing a little bit more refinement with his technique. He does leave quite a lot of his left flank open when he strikes.

Arthur makes his way to his own tent at the side of the arena, looking around for his wayward servant, spotting him immediately amidst the throng of people in the stands. The idiot seems to be deep in conversation with Lancelot, or rather he is nattering on and on to the poor knight who only nods at him in return, a resigned yet fond look on his face.

Arthur decidedly feels nothing twist in his stomach at the sight. The two are close friends, after all. And what of it if they are enjoying each other’s company? It’s not like it is any of his business. _Merlin’s my servant. So I do have business with it._

“Merlin!” He shouts, loud enough that the servant in question turns to him, a wide grin plastered on his face. “Stop lazing about and get me out of this armor. And do hurry up. My luncheon isn’t going to walk by itself to me.”

The servant mock scowls at him, whispers something to Lancelot which makes the knight chuckle and shake his head. Arthur in turn, develops a not-mock scowl and hurries on to his tent without waiting for the servant.

Inside the tent, he sits on a vacant chair moodily and begins to hastily remove parts of his armor before throwing them at the far end of the tent in frustration. Merlin is his servant, damn it. He is not allowed to give Lancelot or any other knight, for that matter, any attention. Not even a mere glance their way and most certainly not that grin! Those are supposed to be reserved for him, or so he thought.

He is all prepared to give Merlin a piece of his mind about that but Merlin comes in, mouth already firing a thousand words per second.

“Oh Arthur, you did so well in there!” Merlin starts. “The audience definitely loved it. Especially that part when they thought Elyan’s going to get you by the side but I know you were feinting that and you swerved just in time to avoid the hit. That was really flashy Arthur. Though while I’m confident in your abilities, don’t go doing that too often, yeah? I do worry about your safety, okay? Even if you’re a prat.”

Well, with that adorable babbling, Arthur can’t very well be mad at Merlin now, can he? Ego appeased, Arthur straightens up and smirks at the servant puttering around the tent, picking up a gauntlet here and a pauldron there.

“You do know I was going to win against Elyan, right?” Arthur preens. “You need not have worried.”

“You drew out the battle for more than necessary, Arthur. I can’t help thinking that you may have had the tiniest bit of difficulty against Elyan. He’s a good swordsman after all.” Merlin replies, picking up a chalice that’s been a casualty when Arthur threw his gauntlet in that general direction. “Gee, Arthur, I realize taking off armor is not in the list of your talents, but when you do try to do it on your own, would you at least have the decency not to throw it aimlessly about?”

Alright, now Arthur can get annoyed. “I’m the king, Merlin. I can undress whichever way I want.” He huffs, glaring at the back of his manservant who is presently turned at the table, fixing Arthur’s silverware for luncheon. And that’s when he notices the absence of a particular red piece of cloth around that smooth, pale neck. _Huh._ “Glad you finally got rid of that stupid neckerchief of yours.” _Now I can have a clear view of that delicious neck._

Seriously, where does that thought come from? Meh. Who is Arthur kidding? He knows he’s been in love with the servant for quite a while now, but he just cannot bring himself to admit it. 

The realization came about the moment he was having that picnic with a noble lady. He is planning a future away from Camelot with her but all he can think about is how he cannot survive and how he will be lonely if Merlin isn’t with them. Or with him. Merlin’s his. He’s not sharing him with anyone.

And besides, what if Merlin doesn’t love him back? Sure, he’s the king, but he does not want to force anyone, Merlin all the more so, to be with him if he doesn’t love him back in that way.

“-thur?”

Arthur slowly resurfaces to reality. “Huh? Did you say something?”

Merlin sets down an aromatic meal on top of the table before sighing. _When did Merlin have the time to get that from the kitchens? Must have been quite a daydream if I didn’t notice how much time has passed._ “Seriously, what’s with you knights today? Can’t have a decent conversation without you spacing out on me.” He shakes his head.

“Us knights? You’ve talked with someone else?” Arthur inquires, eyes narrowing, before he realizes how stupid his question is. He takes a seat and begins to peruse the variety of foods on his tabletop. _Seriously, how far gone is he in dreamland to not notice Merlin leave and return?_

“You do know I talk a lot right?” Merlin looks at him dubiously, as if he is touched in the head. “And you did see me talking to Lance a while ago? He spaced out, just like you did.”

There it is again. That feeling of need to throttle Lancelot unconscious. “Not our fault you natter on for too long that we lose the sense of what you’re saying. That is if it has sense in the first place.”

“Oi!” Merlin has the gall to sound offended. He’s the one who is dallying with his knights here. All right, maybe just on the verge of dallying with one of his knights, but still! “I’ll have you know that I talk perfect sense. I’m a pretty good conversationalist, if I do say so myself.” Merlin puffs out his chest proudly.

The prince can only snort in response. “You?” He asks, mock incredulously. Merlin places his hands on his waist and glares at Arthur. _Oh now he is back to being cute._ Then Arthur hears Merlin’s stomach rumble, and his servant’s cheeks turn red. _Okay, cuteness level is bordering on ‘I won’t be responsible for my actions’ territory._

“Sorry, I haven’t had anything to eat the entire day.” The servant explains sheepishly.

It takes some effort not to melt into a puddle of goo but Arthur manages to keep up a stoic façade. “Just dig in.” He gestures to the bountiful serving in front of him. “Wouldn’t want my servant to get any bonier and clumsier.”

Merlin snorts and answers back. “At least I’m not fat.” He takes a seat on the other side from Arthur.

“What did you say?” Arthur asks, the fork full of meats halfway on its journey to his mouth.

“Er, I called you prat?” Merlin says. Arthur isn’t convinced. Merlin tilts his head downward a little and looks up at Arthur underneath his lashes. “I said you were fat. Unsurprising, considering all the feasts you indulge in. Honestly, Arthur.” He’s trying to be cute and mischievous at the same time and Arthur will be damned if he lets his hormones think for him.

“Merlin?” Arthur calls him warningly.

“Shut up?”

“Exactly.” Arthur agrees. “And get out.”

“Really?” Merlin says. “Well, that’s great! I was actually planning to help Gaius with the potions and the healing and stuff. Thank you, Arthur!” He rushes out of the tent, leaving a confounded Arthur behind. He really doesn’t mean for Merlin to leave, but well, he can’t keep the man from doing duties for Gaius either so he lets it be.

“Merlin!” Arthur shouts after him and the servant peeks his head back in cautiously.

“Yes, sire?”

“Take some food with you before you get out, idiot.” Arthur admonishes, decidedly focusing on the meats on his plate. “And don’t forget that you’ll still have to be there to dress and serve me during my next match. Don’t be late.”

From Arthur’s periphery, he can see his servant grin at him widely before the said man scampers back in to take some meats and fruits before heading out again with a barely audible “I won’t be. Thank you, Arthur!”

**_GWAINE (I)_ **

It has been a great few days since the tournament started and the entire citadel is abuzz with positive energy. Nobles and common-born men alike have been anticipating the show of skills of every competitor and so far, no match has been a disappointment, Gwaine surmises.

Well, except the match he’s had with Lancelot yesterday. 

It hasn’t been an utter bore per se. As a matter of fact, it is the best one so far from the competition, but the fact that he had a tiny slip, a tuft of his long magnanimous hair obscuring his vision, costing him the match is a great disappointment for what could have been the match to go down in the history of Camelot as the most intense duel of knights.

Now he has nothing to do but watch the remaining competitors gut it out. That last match between Arthur and Elyan has been good, but not great, just like all the previous matches Arthur has had. It’s not for a lack of skill on the prince’s part, but more on the abundance of it. He’s much too skilled for anyone to have an inch of chance at winning against him. In Gwaine’s honest, albeit not humble opinion, only he and Lancelot can hold a candle against the King of Camelot.

Speaking of Lancelot, that match with Sir Kay has been rather intense. Kay has been giving it more than what is necessary for a friendly tourney. He almost cut off Lancelot’s left arm for goodness sake! The knight’s skilled, he can admit, but he’s too young and too brash, lacking the finesse and patience that an excellent knight must possess. Still, it’s not an absolute miracle that Lancelot still won despite the injury. He’s a much more experienced fighter after all.

Now where to get lunch? He’s been walking around for a while, his thoughts lost in the spirit of the tournament, but the growling of his stomach can no longer be ignored. He’s debating whether he shall go all the way back to the castle to get a meal from the kitchens or the Rising Sun where the prospect of ale is incredibly appealing. He decides on the latter despite his running short on coins. Why he had to bet on himself winning the entire tournament, he’s regretting it now.

He is about to enter the rowdy tavern (it’s full of people from outside Camelot who want to witness the tournament in celebration of Morgana’s latest defeat) when he catches a glimpse of a mop of black hair a few ways down the road leading to the castle.

Ah, Gwaine’s favorite friend and personal muse. He surreptitiously swishes back a few locks of his immaculate hair before abandoning the tavern in exchange for some moments with –

“Merlin!”

The man in question stumbles a little and a kindly middle-aged woman helps him regain his balance before he can make a full spectacle of himself, not as if he isn’t already some wonderful spectacle in Gwaine’s eyes. He’s holding some assortment of fruits and meats, no doubt part of Arthur’s lunch, and he is sighing with relief upon inspection that none of what he is carrying has been wasted on the dirty streets when Gwaine catches up with him.

“Gwaine!” The servant exclaims, a soft blush of embarrassment visible on his cheeks. “You startled me!”

Gwaine chuckles and messes with Merlin’s hair, earning him a pout from the other man. “Sorry, Merlin. Just saw you and wanted to talk to you.”

Merlin’s expression quickly turns into worry. “Why? Is something the matter?” He studies Gwaine’s features, looking for any sign of an injury. The other man’s heart beats a tad bit faster with all the attention that he is getting.

“Can’t I talk to my best mate without there being any problem?” Gwaine suavely says. “Where are you headed?”

“To Gaius’ quarters.” Merlin replies walking forward, satisfied that the knight has no visible wounds or afflictions. Gwaine falls into step beside him. “He’s down in the field busy with a few injuries and he’s going to need a few more supplies so I decided to get some for him. I might as well eat luncheon there before I go back, care to join me?”

Gwaine’s grin is blinding when he responds with “Sure. Why ever not?”

Only an idiot will pass up an opportunity to dine with Merlin.

**_LANCELOT (II)_ **

For what can only be the hundredth time since this morning, Lancelot holds the red fabric between his fingers, feeling them gently, as if to memorize its texture, every tatter and every crease. He knows that Merlin gave it to him for the wound, but his traitorous heart can only think of it as a favor, a token of good luck and support for his upcoming match against Arthur.

Before the token, Lancelot has pretty much accepted the fact that Arthur will come out as the champion. Of course he will still give it his all, but Arthur’s in a different league on his own. Now though? There’s the token, and he will be damned if he disappoints Merlin, never mind the fact that it may not have been the servant’s intentions at all. He will win this for Merlin.

A rustling from the tent entrance alerts him to the presence of another. His heart flutters at the thought that Merlin’s returned but is only slightly disappointed when he sees Guinevere.

“Guinevere.” He breathes out with a small smile that does not quite reach his eyes. He takes note of how she is wringing her hands, and how her eyes landing on anything but his. “Is everything all right?” Her brows knit together, and Lancelot observes quietly as she struggles to compose herself.

A quick exhale. “I’d just like to wish you good luck in your match.” She says as she reveals a tiny ribbon from between her hands. She moves toward him but stops abruptly when she sees the red cloth. “I-is that?”

Lancelot can see the hurt and disbelief in her eyes and he feels guilty, but he cannot lie to her. He respects and cares for Guinevere a great deal and it will be a disservice to her if he lies. He knows how she feels for him and at some point, he thought he reciprocated it. But there has always been Merlin and he’s known him first, wormed his way to Lancelot’s heart before Gwen came into the picture.

So despite the pain it may cause, he nods, “Er, Merlin's given it to me.” At the thought of him, Lancelot’s features involuntarily soften, not entirely different from that of a lovesick fool.

A gasp. “Merlin?” Guinevere’s hands drop to her sides as she stares at Lancelot with eyes wide with shock. “That’s not possible. He knows that I- how could he?” She shakes her head, as if doing so will wake her up from a nightmare.

Lancelot cannot let Guinevere think that Merlin has betrayed her trust. After all, the man himself is unaware of what he has caused. “Guinevere, listen. It’s not-“

“No, Lancelot.” Gwen cuts him off, a strained smile trying to cover the pain that is still so clearly readable in her eyes. “I understand. You do not have to explain.”

And before he can even respond to that, she stomps out of the tent, before breaking out into run, loud inconsolable sobs reaching Lancelot despite the din in the area of the arena, signaling the near start of his final match against Arthur.

He sighs and begins to fix his armor all by himself, all the while thinking of a certain servant who can be dressing him right now, with worry, care, affection, and most of all, love.

And it isn’t Guinevere.

He concedes he has to talk to her though. An apology and an explanation. He feels so miserably for her since he has let her on, has let her hope that there can be things between them when his heart is set on another. It is his fault that it has taken him far too long to understand what he truly feels and it’s taken him the events of this morning to finally understand that Merlin’s the love of his life and Guinevere can only be a companion, a friend and a lady of respectable honor.

Right now, he does not deserve her friendship though, and he has to rectify that.

He walks out of the tent, still lost in his thoughts. The crowd is still as loud and as rowdy as it was earlier, except now there are no chants of Lancelot as is the case for anyone who faces against Arthur. Everyone in the kingdom is in love with their king and he is always the favored one in tournaments like this. But he is a likable knight, and as such, no boos are also forthcoming from the people, just respectful applause as he is called out onto the center of the field.

He has a niggling feeling though, that behind him, someone is glaring at him with malicious intent and as he turns to scan the crowd, he cannot pinpoint exactly anyone so he shrugs it off and awaits for the commencement of the match.

He studies Arthur, his eyes gleaming and confident. He is stood in a way that leaves much of his body open for a quick jab of the sword and Lancelot cannot help feeling ire rise up within him at the king’s disregard for his abilities as a knight. He’s improved tremendously through the years and he is not the same man who will fall victim to Arthur in less than a minute as he once did when he tried out for knighthood.

A cry from the announcer, Geoffrey of Monmouth, signals the start of their duel.

Lancelot begins on the offensive, feinting a strike at Arthur which the other carelessly reacts to and Lancelot has him where he wants him. He raises his sword and starts a series of attacks, strike after strike. Arthur for his part, quickly recovers from his initial misstep and deflects each strike. He’s sweating now and his brows are knit tightly, his eyes a reflection of his surprise. And Lancelot feels a little proud at that achievement. Rarely do you see the King of Camelot surprised in a swordfight.

And then Arthur sidesteps. Lancelot falters. His sword hitting nothing but air. He barely turns in time to shield himself from Arthur’s blow, but he has to take a few steps back to gather his senses. And damn it, defending that attack has flared up the pain of the cut in his forearm.

The tables are now turned and it is Lancelot who finds himself backing away from Arthur’s barrage of attacks. It’s getting difficult and he knows he is about to lose. The searing pain on his arm making him lose focus. From the resounding cheers from the stands, he knows that the audience can feel the impending win of their king. But he’ll be damned if he gives in so easily.

They go at it for quite a long while but it’s turned into a lopsided affair. One is clearly at the mercy of the other and Lancelot knows he is that one. But if only he can find an opening of sorts, a lack of concentration on the part of Arthur, he can turn this match around. Arthur though, is a great fighter and shows no sign of weariness at all. Lancelot feels he is not even giving it his all, drawing it out.

Another stab of pain, much worse than the throbbing of before hits his forearm and he looks at it to see that blood has seeped out from the open wound.

Arthur also takes notice, not the blood but the cloth, and he flinches.

_Chance._

Lancelot successfully parries Arthur’s distracted swing, and they are back on equal footing.

“A token, Lancelot? Really?” Arthur laughs out, as they stand, swords crossed in between them. “Who’s the lucky lady then?”

Lancelot knows Arthur for far too long not to notice that though he may be jeering, there is a real challenge in the question. As if he already knows – knows just by the sight of that adorable red neckerchief – who it is but daring Lancelot to _say the name._

“Not a lady. It’s Merlin.” Lancelot answers and he feels the immediate change in Arthur’s persona. Gone are the laziness and lightness with which he treated the fight from its beginning and in its stead are downright rage and jealousy.

Lancelot has suspected from the beginning if there is anything going on between Arthur and Merlin. He is certain that there is affection there, but it never seemed to get to romance territory. Arthur insults Merlin each time he gets the chance to and any man who harbors romantic feelings for someone will not let them suffer through several menial tasks such as polishing armor, mucking out stables, and drawing out baths as often as Arthur does to Merlin.

“And do you fancy Merlin?” Arthur asks as he strikes.

“I do, sire.” Lancelot answers

“You’d do well staying away from Merlin.” Arthur warns, his strikes getting heavier and more intentional. But he’s lost his focus and is leaving too much of his flank open for Lancelot to strike.

And Lancelot does. A hit to Arthur’s left sends the king stumbling to the ground and before he can get up, Lancelot has him at sword point.

The crowd is at a stunned silence before a round of humble applause pervades the air. Lancelot has won. Their king has lost.

Lancelot cannot believe it himself. But he’s taking the victory. He looks Arthur in the eye, and the other man is glaring. He’s no master in reading people’s emotions through their eyes but Lancelot knows there is righteous jealousy there. He can feel the need for Arthur to hurt him, but not kill him. Arthur’s too good a man to resort to murder.

Upon being declared the winner, Lancelot withdraws his sword from Arthur’s throat and the other man stands up, his venomous glare disappearing the instant his face can be seen by the thousands in the crowd.

Arthur grips at Lancelot’s good shoulder tightly before saying, “You may have won this fight, Lancelot. But with Merlin, I won’t back down against you.”

“As do I, sire.” Lancelot says. “As do I.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you should probably know by now, the fic's written in varying perspectives, so it may not exactly be chronological. :)
> 
> Thank you so much for all your lovely comments and the amazing number of kudoses is just wow. Thank you thank you thank you! <3
> 
> Hope you all enjoy the next chapter! :)

**_ARTHUR (II)_ **

Arthur stomps off the arena and back to the castle, after steeling himself enough to see through Lancelot’s entire moment of glory. He even claps softly as his people showers Lancelot with applause and praises, but deep within Arthur is a resentment and a childish unacceptance of the knight’s win against him. Lancelot distracted him, incensed him in a way that made him careless and open for defeat.

But it is as it is. To the eyes of the people, a loss is a loss, and he has to be a gracious loser lest they think of their king as an immature _clotpole._

_Clotpole._ Arthur sighs. Even in this moment of defeat, all he can think about is Merlin. He has wanted to win the tournament and then brag about it to Merlin afterwards. Now that’s no longer a possibility. Instead of talking about his supposed win, he now has other concerns that he needs to address with Merlin. Well, whenever he feels like talking. As of the moment, he knows himself well enough that if he talks, he’ll end up making the situation worse, like maybe insulting Merlin, disrespecting him, or hurting him. He knows how his brain to mouth filter does not work well whenever he is raging, so he’s going to try to quell it first.

Part of why he is so immensely angry is the fact that Merlin had not even been his usual self when he arrived to assist him before the match. Merlin has arrived at his tent a few seconds short of being late, which is as much as you can hope with Merlin anyway. He’s about to mock the man but he notices that his apologetic smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes that time, as if he is distracted by something. He wordlessly proceeds to redress him into his armor. Arthur wants to ask him what the problem is but he’s a stuck-up prince who has difficulty confronting even his own emotions so he has found it hard to. They have their usual banter, Merlin telling him not to be an arse about winning yet another tournament and Arthur countering with his usual insults of idiocy, daftness, and that physical impossibility of being a girl’s petticoat. But it isn’t the same. The way Merlin delivers his insults doesn’t have the same joviality they usually have and he really wants to ask what’s bothering him but he’s already been called to the field and he can’t keep the spectators waiting.

And he can’t help thinking that Merlin’s change in attitude has something to do with Lancelot. Did they have a spat? If so, what about? What if Lancelot’s being a possessive bastard who doesn’t want Merlin to assist Arthur because… because they’re lovers and Merlin can’t go giving a favor to one knight and help dress another! And Merlin and his stupid undying sense of duty to Arthur, decides to help him anyway.

That explains Merlin’s fidgeting, and certainly Lancelot’s silent determination during the match! He has wanted to win because he’s trying to prove himself to Merlin, to tell him that he’s better than Arthur!

There is a flutter in his chest at that thought that Merlin’s still gone to him in spite of Lancelot. Clearly, despite their relationship, Arthur still takes precedence in Merlin’s life and he mentally scores that as a win for himself. It is short lived though as he realizes that though that may be the case, it still isn’t him that Merlin’s with.

He’s with Lancelot and Arthur’s not been privy to this snippet in Merlin’s life. Is Merlin ever going to tell him? Or should he have noticed it? Surely if it’s a thing, there must have been glaring signs in past events that indicate Merlin has affections for Lancelot. There must be some secret smiles, longing looks, or fleeting glances. When is the last time he saw them together?

He halts in front of his chambers.

How can he be so stupid? The talk that morning after his match against Elyan indicates their closeness enough. And how is he to know how many times Merlin and Lancelot have interacted in the past? What does Merlin do when he is shirking off his duties to Arthur? Gaius always says that Merlin heads off to the tavern…

The tavern! It is a complete and utter lie! Merlin pretends to go to the tavern but instead he is secretly meeting up with Lancelot!

Denial. Frustration. Anger. Arthur doesn’t know how to feel about these sudden realizations. How can he have been so blind to all these?

He punches the wood of his chamber doors and lets out a guttural scream. He then proceeds to slam his chamber doors with his fist, over and over, and he belatedly realizes that there are tears in his eyes.

At that moment, he looks nothing like a warrior or a king. All he looks like is a desolate, lovelorn man. His head resting on the door is turned downward in agony. His shoulders are sagging as he collapses to his knees.

_Merlin likes Lancelot. Merlin loves Lancelot. Lancelot loves him back._

_Arthur loves Merlin. Merlin does not love him back._

He thought that the pain from the Questing Beast is the worst kind of pain to live through, but this? It’s gutting him from inside out and he doesn’t know how to stop it.

A cough from behind him breaks him out of his laughable moment of self-loathing. He straightens up almost immediately and regains his regal form.

“Sir Kay,” Arthur says, voice authoritative, although there is still a hint of a wobble in there. “Is there a problem?”

“I was wondering if you were alright, my lord.” The young knight replies, strangely overly deferent but his face is stoic. “You left as soon as the post-match ceremonies were over.”

Huh. That is new. Kay doesn’t seem the type to be thoughtful.

“I am fine, Sir Kay.” Arthur lies which leads to a slight movement of an eyebrow from the knight, reminiscent of that of Gaius’. He sighs. He must have been there quite a while to witness Arthur’s breakdown. “At least I will be, soon enough. Leave me be.” He amends.

There are a few quiet moments as Sir Kay studies his king’s features. “As you wish, my lord.” He says. “But if it’s any consolation, I and some of the knights still think that you have won. We will never recognize the win of a commoner.”

And before Arthur can reply to that, still reeling at the implications, Sir Kay has already turned and left, shoulders straight and his gait proud and challenging. He sighs (he’s been doing that quite a lot lately) and turns to enter his chambers.

He motions for Merlin to undress him but he realizes that the man hasn’t followed him back. He has left the ceremonies rather quickly, after all. And with a stab of jealousy, he reasons that Merlin is probably out there basking in the celebratory joy of Lancelot’s triumph in the tourney. With no servants forthcoming, he proceeds to undress. _I do have the ability to do it on my own, thank you very much, Merlin. I’m just trying to savor every physical moment I can have with you, idiot._

He takes out a clean red shirt and puts it on. _Yes, I can also dress myself just fine._ There’s a feast tonight to culminate the plethora of celebrations in honor of Morgana’s latest defeat and he has to wear his armor again for that but he has a few hours to himself before it starts so he makes himself comfortable at the seat of his desk and proceeds to mull over the events of the day.

**_GWAINE (II)_ **

If getting to have a lot of quality time with Merlin is what Gwaine’s going to get for losing early in the tournament, then he shall have feigned defeat at the very first round, or maybe he shall have even declined joining in the first place. As it is, he has lost the day before the final so he only gets to spend an afternoon’s luncheon with Merlin.

And as of now, it has the capacity to be the most amazing moment of Gwaine’s ale-driven life. 

He and Merlin has made a stop at the castle kitchens so that Gwaine can get a meal which the cook hastily serves them. And so, carrying their lunches, they make their way to Gaius’s chambers and settle down for a quick meal.

It isn’t like Gwaine has not had any opportunity to dine with Merlin before, but it’s always in the company of other people, in feasts or in camps during patrols. The only time they were alone, Merlin’s too worried about Arthur going off on a quest all on his own so he didn’t particularly savor that moment. He may have been the one Merlin’s physically with, but the servant’s mind is so far off in Arthurland for there to have any opportunity to bond.

Now though, Merlin’s in a great mood, worry-free and has all of an hour alone with him, and he’ll be a fool not to make the most of it.

“You seem particularly jolly today, eh Merlin?” Gwaine asks, noting how the other man is humming quite happily to himself as he digs in to some chicken.

“Well, it’s nice to let loose sometimes, I guess.” Merlin shrugs, and proceeds to ravenously eat the food in front of him. And then he adds, “It’s not every day you overthrow Morgana and reclaim Camelot, is it?”

“Guess not.” Gwaine laughs at him, patronizing. “You did well then, in the siege.” He says, not wishing this luncheon to be spent in just comfortable silence. He wants to make a connection with Merlin, and he’s going to work his way through this conversation to tell Merlin he loves him.

“What? I didn’t do anything. It was all Arthur, really.” Merlin blurts, embarrassed from the soft praise Gwaine’s granted him, and really how can anyone not adore a man who’s as humble as Merlin?

“Could have fooled me.” Gwaine retorts, internally flinching at the mention of Arthur. Really? Even when he’s not in any trouble, he still finds himself in the conversations between him and Merlin? “But that dealer bloke, Tristan, told me you led them all in the safety of Ealdor, including the princess himself.”

“Really, it was nothing. And Tristan? He’s still here?” Merlin asks, luncheon forgotten.

“Nah, caught up with him before he left.” Gwaine says, “But really, Merlin. What you did, it’s more than I have ever done, locked up in the dungeons for Morgana’s amusement.” He tries to sound as if he’s joking but really, that was the moment he felt the most useless in all his life.

“Oh don’t say that, Gwaine.” Merlin, idiotic as he may seem at times, catches on to the uncertainty and guilt in Gwaine’s tone. “You were so brave, facing up to Morgana and her men. You defended Elyan and Gaius. To me, that’s damn heroic and I’ll be forever grateful to you for looking after Gaius.” He says it so earnestly that Gwaine’s _dead._ So dead in love and if he won’t forgive himself if he balks out of telling Merlin how he feels.

“M-Merlin…” Gwaine stutters. The other man’s looking at him with so much concern and he’s struggling to just say it. “There’s something I have to tell you.” He stalls.

Merlin merely nods and Gwaine notes that he’s finished his meal and is now entirely focused on him. Damn it. He’s never been this way before. He’s always the smooth talker and he gets whoever he wants with just a few naughty words and a little hair flick but this is Merlin we are talking about. He’s different. Special.

“Gwaine?” Merlin tilts his head and looks at him worriedly. “Are you all right?”

He coughs and mentally scolds himself to get his act together. “You see Merlin, you’re a really good man, no. Good doesn’t do you justice. You’re a great man. You look great. Your smile is great. Your kindness is beyond great. Your sense of adventure, your loyalty. Everything about you is great.”

He says it all looking determinedly at Merlin’s intoxicating blue eyes. He notices the blush forming on the other man’s cheeks, accentuating those killer cheekbones that caught his attention that very first day at that faraway tavern. And he can’t help feel a little bit of hope blossom in his chest. Is it possible?

“Gwaine, what are you –”

“What I’m trying to say, Merlin, is that you’re absolutely incredible and it’s been a rather long time since we’ve had time to talk so intimately like this and I’d like to take this opportunity to tell you that I –”

The sound of the door getting banged open so hard makes them both jump. In unison, they turn their heads to their new company.

“Gwen!” Merlin says delighted, and he seems to be sighing a bit in relief, Gwaine observes. _Perhaps the confession has been too surprising and intense for Merlin?_ He quivers at the thought that he may have blown his chances by being too direct when he hears the deafening crack of skin on skin contact. He belatedly takes in Gwen’s raised arm and Merlin’s own covering his cheek.

He stands up abruptly, torn between defending Merlin and being respectful to a lady.

“How could you?” Gwen sounds livid. “I trusted you, Merlin! How can you do this to me?” She’s crying and Gwaine’s confused with everything going on. He looks to Merlin for an explanation and sees that the other man has no idea either as to what brings this on.

“G-Gwen, I don’t understand…” Merlin speaks slowly, rubbing his cheek, now red for a different and rather unpleasant reason. “How could I have done what?”

“You know that I’m in love with Lancelot.” Gwen, distraught as she is, steps a little closer to Merlin but Gwaine stands in between them.

“Gwen, calm down, will you?” Gwaine tells her, his hands braced on her shoulders.

“Calm down?” Gwen asks him back, as if his request is the most absurd thing she has ever heard. “How can I calm down when my supposed best friend has betrayed me? I told him that I fancy Lancelot and now he’s all but thrown himself at his feet. Did you notice anything amiss with _him,_ Gwaine? He doesn’t have his neckerchief! And why is that? He’s given it to Lancelot, as a favor for his match against Arthur.” She says with as much venom and hurt as she can. And then she turns back to Merlin who’s been awfully quiet behind him. “You’ve been seeing each other behind my back. Some friend you are.”

And with that, she leaves, banging the door the same way she did when she entered. The silence is deafening after that and Gwaine cannot bring himself to turn and see Merlin’s face. He’s reeling from all the implications of what Guinevere has said. Merlin’s with Lancelot. They’ve been seeing each other. Where does that leave him?

He’s been with many partners throughout his life but never in any occasion has he ever felt love. This is the first and he thought that this is it. Merlin is who he’s meant to be with. But if he’s with another, what does it mean for him? This must be why he’s never tried to love before. Being denied love hurts like hell. There’s a pain in his chest that’s not at all physical and he has no idea how to deal with it.

“G-Gwaine…” Merlin calls to him from behind. A hand to his shoulder jolts him and he feels like he’s suffocating. It’s like the world’s squeezing him and he cannot breathe. The air’s all but vanished and he has to get out of here.

“I have to go.” He says, voice gruff. He can’t bring himself to turn back. “You have your potions for Gaius to deal with, yeah? I’ll be leaving you to it.”

**_LANCELOT (III)_ **

Right after the announcement of his win, Lancelot’s immediately surrounded by his closest friends. Sir Percival thumps him heavily at the back and Elyan’s saying something about how good he is for being able to beat the prince. Leon places his arm around his neck, demanding for some celebration at the tavern.

It’s a flurry of movement, people coming and going, congratulating and praising him but not a single one of them is the man he most wishes to see. Half-listening to whatever praise Sir Caradoc’s telling him, he cranes his neck in search of the servant but he’s nowhere to be found. Instead, he sees Gwaine leaning against the stands, looking at him with an intensity that somehow throws him off from the euphoria.

He extricates himself humbly from Sir Caradoc and moves toward his friend, a tentative smile forming upon his face, but it falters a bit when he notices the sour expression looming over Gwaine’s features.

“Hey.” He says in way of greeting.

The other knight simply stares at him and for a second he thinks he isn’t heard, but then Gwaine begins to talk, expression still strangely void of mirth. “Congratulations, Lancelot.”

Lancelot internally questions the sincerity of that, but he’s not one to quickly judge others with what they say or how they say it, so he says, “Thank you, Gwaine. Though to be honest, winning this tournament’s quite a surreal experience. I just had an opportunity when Arthur got careless.”

“Oh, I’m not talking about the tournament, mate. I’m sure you’ve already got enough acknowledgement for that.” Gwaine abandons his post on the stands and move directly to Lancelot’s face, his shoulders stiff and Lancelot wonders if anything’s troubling his friend. “I’d like to congratulate you and Merlin for being together. I suppose he’s been your inspiration for this tourney.” Gwaine says all these smoothly and his eyes narrow at the little flinch coming from Lancelot.

“Wh-what?” Lancelot splutters. Did he hear Gwaine correctly? “I’m not in a relationship with Merlin!”

Gwaine simply gives him an incredulous look. “That’s not what Gwen said.”

“Guinevere?” Lancelot asks, equally incredulous. A dawning horror makes his entire body shiver as he realizes how Guinevere could have possibly construed that he and Merlin are in a relationship based on what she saw. “She’s completely misunderstood! She doesn’t know the half of – listen, mate. I’m not with Merlin, though I’d very much like to be. Guinevere saw the neckerchief Merlin’s given me for my wound and she mistook it for a token!”

The icy aura emanating from his companion seems to be thawing as their conversation goes on, an amused expression emerging. “So you’re saying that you’re not really with Merlin?” Gwaine asks, almost jovially.

“No, Gwaine. Though I wish we are, together, I mean.” Lancelot sighs, dreamy and smitten, so horribly in love.

“Well, tough luck there mate.” Gwaine pats him on the shoulder, taking him out of a Merlin-induced daze. “Because at the end of the day, Merlin’s going to choose me.”

Now it’s Lancelot’s turn to be hostile. He’s not naturally a war freak kind of guy, but in anything Merlin, a certain possessiveness wakes up from within him and he gets jealous whenever another man stakes a claim at Merlin’s affections. “And what makes you think that he’d choose you over me?”

“Cause I’m going to woo him like a right gentleman.” Gwaine answers.

Lancelot snorts. “You? Woo Merlin?” He cannot think of Gwaine as someone who’d go all romantic for someone. Flirty? Yes. But romantic? Not a chance. He has not an iota of an idea on how to be properly romantic. “I’d like to see you try.”

Gwaine just rewards him with a calculating look and after a few silent moments. “Shake on it?” He offers his right hand.

And Lancelot understands what Gwaine wants. A fair rivalry, for Merlin’s heart. He shakes Gwaine’s hand with his own. “On my honor, I will accept whoever Merlin deigns is worthy of his love. If it’s you he chooses, then I shall humbly step out of the picture and leave you in peace.” And then he remembers Arthur. “But I should let you know that King Arthur also vies for Merlin’s affections and this is not just between the two of us.”

“Oh that?” Gwaine says, as if the fact is in fact, not a new fact. “Who doesn’t know about that?”

And Lancelot begrudgingly concurs. The king may not have said it in words in public (except to Lancelot), but his actions explicitly exude a hands-off aura when it comes to anything Merlin.

A soft fond smile forms upon his face. That’s just like Merlin to attract everyone and make them very possessive of him, all the while not having any idea on the things that he can do to them.

“Mate, you have to clear things up with Gwen, though.” Gwaine speaks out loud, releasing him from his thoughts which, again, are about Merlin. Has he thought of anything or anyone else in the past few weeks, hell, in the past few months?

But at the mention of Guinevere, his expression sobers. “Right. I guess I do.” He begins to leave the stadium. Just as well, since the sun’s beginning to set behind them and a soft drizzle has started. But midway in his stride, he pauses as a thought comes up to him. “Why did Guinevere tell you?” It’s not like Gwaine and Guinevere are that close, so why would she confide in him?

There’s a melancholic feel in the way that Gwaine smiles at him. “I was the unfortunate witness to Gwen lashing out at Merlin for apparently ‘betraying her trust.’ According to her, she’s confided in him all about her not-so-secret crush on you. Considering that you made such a poor job at explaining to her that you’re not with Merlin, she’s understandably cross.”

A wave of guilt comes crashing down to Lancelot’s chest at those words. Merlin and Guinevere both do not deserve what they’re going through, and it’s all his fault. He has to make this right. With that resolve, he carries on to Guinevere’s place at the lower town, hoping that she’s not working later at the feast (in honor of his win) in the castle and is already home.

**_ARTHUR (III)_ **

An hour passes by before Merlin decides to quietly enter Arthur’s chambers. Arthur’s tempted to give a scathing remark on Merlin’s poor regard for his duties as servant to the king but when he takes in the sullenness of the other man, the words die in his mouth and he can only look at him with concern.

“Is something wrong, Merlin?” He asks instead.

The servant shakes his head and proceeds to pick up the armor that Arthur has thrown haphazardly across the room earlier in a fit of frustration. “Nothing, sire.” His voice his rough, as if he’s just been crying.

“Where have you been then?” _To celebrate Lancelot’s victory, you dolt._ A traitorous voice in himself tells him. Arthur ignores it and continues his interrogation. “You know, as my servant you shouldn’t really go off anywhere without my permission.”

“Sorry,” Merlin says absentmindedly and without the usual flare of cheek. And just for that, Arthur aches to really get to the bottom of what’s troubling him. If it’s a lover’s quarrel with Lancelot, he’s going to throttle his knight but he won’t do anything to get them back together because, well, that would mean, Merlin’s free for his taking. “I just had some matters to clear up with Gwen. It couldn’t wait.”

Huh. Not what he is expecting. “And pray tell, what is this important matter that it supersedes the needs of your king?” Arthur mocks, desperate to get a typical Merlin reaction, to know that he is in fact all right.

“Er, just some misunderstanding, Arthur.” Merlin’s not looking at him in the eye, and is instead busying himself with picking up clothes to be brought to the laundry.

Guinevere and Merlin? Did they have a falling out too? But they’re thick as thieves! What could have caused – _oh. Lancelot._ It seems to him that it’s not only him who has not been privy to the relationship of Lancelot and Merlin. Even Guinevere’s not aware of what’s going on and the poor girl has been pining for Lancelot for so long!

“Why did you never tell me?” Arthur asks, all attempts at normal banter gone from his melancholic tone.

“Huh?” Now this time, Merlin looks at him askance.

“You and Lancelot?” Arthur rolls his eyes. Does he really have to say it? Is Merlin being clueless on purpose? “How long have you two been together?”

As comprehension dawns on Merlin’s face, he heaves out a huge breath, seemingly frustrated. “We are not together, Arthur. That neckerchief Gwen and you, probably, have seen isn’t meant to be a token. I was merely stemming the blood flow from Lancelot’s wound, okay? It’s no romantic gesture and whatever else you may think of it.”

Well, now that’s a pleasant surprise, and Arthur will take it. He’s grinning widely before he catches himself. 

“So you’re single?” Merlin looks at him weirdly but he nods all the same, if not a little suspiciously.

Arthur’s tempted to whoop and throw his fist into the air, but he fears that will give too much away so he relies on his pratliness (Don’t tell Merlin he’s long since accepted the fact that he’s a prat) to subdue his elation. “Well, if that’s the case, you have too much free time alone and I’d graciously give you more work to fill out your boring hours. Muck out the stables, polish my armor, my boots and mend those shirts that I’ll be using for the knighting ceremony the week next.”

Merlin sighs resignedly, picking up the last of the scattered clothes. “As you wish, sire. I’ll have to take this down to the laundry but I’ll get back shortly to prepare your attire in time for the feast tonight.”

When Merlin exits the room, Arthur follows through with his whoop and air fist before settling back on his desk to practice the speech Merlin’s prepared for him for the feast tonight.

But after a few moments of reading through the speech, he realizes that Merlin’s still lonely when he got to Arthur’s chambers so his talk with Guinevere couldn’t have gone well. And he decides to press on that matter upon Merlin’s return.

True enough, when Merlin gets back just a few moments later, he blurts out, “I take it your conversation with Guinevere has not gone overly well?” He says it without preamble.

Merlin stares at him, mouth agape. His starched red shirt folded neatly in Merlin’s arms. Then Merlin’s face morphs into one of sadness and says, “No it hasn’t.”

“What is it about?”

Merlin looks at him exasperatedly. _Do you really have to know?_ Arthur can read his thought on his demeanor alone. In answer, he simply looks at Merlin expectantly and Merlin lets out a heavy sigh.

“Well, if you really must know, it’s about the token thing with Lancelot.” Merlin starts. “I’m pretty sure that she understood me when I said that I didn’t mean for it as a romantic gesture, but I don’t understand why she’s still upset despite my explanations.”

“She’s being ridiculous!” Arthur’s earnestly says. “If anything, she should be cross with Lancelot for not clearing out things for her.”

Merlin does not answer him, just stares at him with eyes swimming with unshed tears. “C-can I hug you?”

Arthur tenses. His heart is suddenly beating a hundred times a second and he can feel his cheeks stain red.

“I mean, it is okay if you don’t want to, I know how you don’t do hugs.” Merlin hurries to add. “It’s just that I could really do with some comfort right now.” He says, head bowing down.

Arthur’s feels all his defenses go away at the sight of Merlin’s evident misery. His happy, lovely young man is currently a sad, lovely young man, and he’ll be damned if he denies him of what little comfort he asks for. “Come here, you idiot.”

Merlin looks at him from underneath his lashes. _And isn’t that just a sight to behold?_ He moves a few steps forward quite reluctantly before speeding up and running around the table and throws himself into Arthur in loud racking sobs.

“What am I going to do, Arthur?” He asks helplessly. “She’s my friend. I don’t want her to be mad at me.”

“Give her some time.” Arthur whispers into his ear, his hand finding its way to Merlin’s back to rub it soothingly. He’s inhaling the scent of Merlin’s hair, strangely still fragrant despite the activities of the day. “She’ll come around and before you know it, you’re back to being the best of friends.” Most of the time, Arthur will find situations like this awkward and he’ll be a stuck up git and offer no real relief. But strangely, things with Merlin are just so easy and he finds himself able to tap into his caring and protective side to give Merlin some semblance of comfort.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3! Thank you so much for all of your kudoses and comments! I've enjoyed reading and replying to all of them! <3

**_GWAINE (III)_ **

It’s been a roller coaster of a day and such an occasion calls for ale and merry making so Gwaine decides that he shall get spectacularly shitfaced at the feast. But he knows that before he can do that, he has to apologize to Merlin for leaving him abruptly earlier in the day. He’s been berating himself ever since and he wishes he can turn back time and make things right. And since he cannot do that, the best course of action is to apologize, and perhaps he can push through with his planned confession. He decides to wait until Arthur’s entered the great hall, Merlin in tow, signaling the formal start of the feast.

People are slowly trickling in and the hall’s already abuzz with vibrant energy but as the wait draws out, Gwaine’s turning into a nervous mess, fists clenching and unclenching underneath the tables.

“You okay?” Percival asks from beside him. He makes a sour face and replies with a quiet “Yeah.”

His friend doesn’t seem convinced and decides to give him a goblet of wine. “To calm you down a bit.” Percival says. “Seems like you need it.” His smile is warm but a little bit strained. And Gwaine can tell why. Percival’s one of his closest friends in Camelot and it hurts the man thinking that Gwaine doesn’t feel comfortable talking to him about his problems.

Gwaine sighs. He cannot alienate Percival and he has to air out his frustration to someone at some point. He’s heard it’s a good thing to share your problems with a friend, like it lightens the weight of it all, somehow. “Thanks.” He says, accepting the offered goblet and downs its contents in one go.

“So, are you going to tell me what this is about?” Percival asks quietly, and Gwaine can barely hear him above the din around the great hall. But it also means that Percival recognizes Gwaine’s difficulty in sharing this specific problem and talking about it in a normal voice might cause others to join in the conversation.

“It’s about Merlin.” Gwaine starts and Percival, the soft-hearted giant, leans down so that he can hear more clearly. He’s privy to Gwaine’s infatuation with Merlin of course, what with it being at the center of the teasing that’s going on between them so Gwaine leaves nothing behind when he explains. “I may have hurt him, earlier. Not physically, gods know I’m incapable of raising my arm against the man. But I abandoned him, when he needed me the most.”

Percival’s brows are knit together, trying to make sense of what Gwaine’s saying. “And why did you?”

“I was with him at the physician’s chambers, sharing a simple meal when Gwen barged in and slapped him hard.” Gwaine hears Percival gasp at that but he continues with his tale, not deterred. “She yelled about Merlin betraying her trust. She said that Merlin’s in a relationship with Lancelot and that shocked me speechless. You see, I was about to tell Merlin I love him before Gwen came in and interrupted my confession so just imagine how shaken my world has been at that moment. I left the room right after Gwen did, not caring what Merlin had to say about the matter. I was too broken then, Percival. But now I know they’re not together. Lancelot has cleared that up for me. And now I realize how rude I’ve been to Merlin when I left him all alone back there when only just moments ago, he was having the worst quarrel he’s ever had with his best friend!”

Gwaine’s surprised as to how much he’s said, barely breathing between words and he fears he may have lost Percival somewhere along his rant but the other man is looking at him intently, alert and listening. “So yeah, now I want to apologize to Merlin, and that’s making me nervous.”

Percival nods his agreement at that resolve. “But surely Gwen should know that Lancelot only has eyes for her?” He asks. “Or is there some grain of truth with her accusation?”

A servant refills Gwaine’s now empty cup and he sips at it before replying. “Merlin and Lancelot are definitely not together, but Lancelot does have feelings for Merlin.”

His friend can only look at him incredulously at that statement. “Really?” At Gwaine’s nod he says, “I was certain Lancelot had a thing for Gwen… I suppose I didn’t see that coming.”

“Well, I heard Lancelot and Merlin have been friends for quite a while, even before Lancelot met Gwen.” Gwaine says. “They say Lancelot’s even saved Merlin from a very menacing gryphon. Then they were together during the battle with Morgana’s immortal army. Definitely not surprising that one could fall to other.”

“I suppose.” Percival amends. “And Merlin’s a thing of beauty, anyway. I’m betting my money that almost everyone’s in love with the guy. I know I would be if I weren’t already smitten with someone else.” Percival’s tone is pensive as he says those last few words.

Gwaine snorts at that and is about to ask Percival who this secret person is when someone from across their table says,

“Disgusting.” It is Sir Kay, his voice dripping with venom. He’s apparently been listening in. “It shows how void you are of noble blood to fantasize about skinny serving boys.” He stands up from his seat and leaves the hall, Gwaine, Percival and a few other knights who have heard his outburst staring after him.

“Don’t mind him.” Sir Caradoc says from Gwaine’s other side. “He’s only bitter that the king has accepted more skilled swordsmen than he is through the ranks. Just like his father, he is.”

Gwaine’s heard stories about Kay and his father Sir Galahad. Even before Arthur’s accepted commoners into the knighthood, they have been adamant about having rigorous background checks on every man who wishes to be a knight. The scullery maids have told him that once, the then king, Uther Pendragon has accepted a commoner in the guise of nobility, much like Lancelot has done. Sir Galahad, just by one glance alone has determined the man as of a lesser status and since his intuition has been relentless in proving the nature of the man’s birth. And after that, the stories are muddled. Some say he’s found real evidence, some say he falsified them. But one thing is for sure. The knight’s been personally dragged by Galahad, a squire-in-the-making Kay by his side, in front of Uther and needless to say, he’s hanged to death for his deception. It’s a good thing Lancelot isn’t as unlucky.

In any case, it’s not like Gwaine cares in the first place. He’s never been one to care what others think about him and his friends and it’s not his fault that the man is stuck-up. He has other matters to be concerned about, namely how to apologize to one adorable big-eared manservant. He goes for another cup to soothe his nervousness.

It’s when he is deep into his eleventh cup that Arthur deems it necessary to enter the hall. He’s usually not this late, so Gwaine briefly wonders what held him up. Perhaps still struggling with the fact that he lost. He hears someone giggle and only belatedly realizes that it’s coming from him. _Huh. Must be on my way to being spectacularly shitfaced now._ He shakes his head to give himself some sense of sobriety. He has to apologize to Merlin first.

He steels his resolve and looks to where Arthur’s now giving his Merlin-written speech, but he’s not listening. Merlin’s not with him. _Oh, tomorrow morning then. Or afternoon, if he’s going to be too hungover._

And then there comes a short silence, forcing Gwaine to focus on what’s going on around him. Everybody is turning here and there, as if searching for somebody that cannot be found.

“Say, you guys know where Lancelot is?” Gwaine catches Elyan ask from Percival’s other side. “He’s the man of the hour, isn’t he? Shouldn’t he be up there?”

Gwaine freezes as unbidden images cross his mind. _No. Lancelot’s talking to Gwen._ He stands up nevertheless, to the curious looks of the people around their table. “I-I need some air.” His excuse is lame and no one from their table buys it but they let him be, save for some worried looks they throw in his direction as he stumbles half-drunkenly out the great hall. He needs to see Merlin somehow.

**_LANCELOT (IV)_ **

The whole excitement about the affairs of the tournament seems like years ago as Lancelot wanders through the streets of the lower town solemnly. He’s done a lot of questionable things today, and he’s mulling over how he has messed up quite a lot of things with the people he cares about. He’s caused a falling out between Merlin and Guinevere and he’s given the wrong idea to both Gwaine and Arthur, no matter how much he wishes for that idea to be real.

So lost in his own mind is he that he fails to notice the blur of a man hurriedly striding in his direction. The collision sends both men a shock, but Lancelot, sturdy as he is, does not topple over. The same cannot be said for the gangly boy – _Merlin!_

Merlin’s taken two steps back, dizzy from the hit, and is flailing a bit in a fight to regain some semblance of balance. Lancelot quickly steadies him with hands on his shoulders. “Merlin, I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you all right?”

A moment passes before Merlin’s able to take stock of his predicament. His eyes are bloodshot and swimming with tears threatening to shed. “No, not entirely your fault. I wasn’t paying attention to where I’m going, either.”

Seconds tick by with Lancelot just staring at him with concern and Merlin wiping at his eyes to dry them before they spill. But then, Lancelot sees the moment Merlin realizes how close to each other they really are at the moment. He stiffens as he releases an almost inaudible gasp. And almost involuntarily, the servant turns his head as if not wanting anyone to see them this close before taking a few steps back.

“Well, I have to get to Arthur now.” Merlin says before walking past him in a quick run.

Lancelot has fully intended to catch up to him and ask him whether he’s truly fine when he stops dead on his tracks upon noticing the dark figure a few houses away eyeing him with an icy stare. Guinevere. So that’s why Merlin’s become all tense and jumpy almost immediately.

He takes in a deep breath and walks toward the woman. She is standing by her little home’s open door, and with the light from inside reflecting her profile a bright orange hue, she looks positively ethereal. “Guinevere.” He says her name in way of greeting.

“Lancelot.” She says back, before getting inside, leaving the door open. A clear invitation. At least she’s willing to talk this out.

“So what brings you here to this mere servant girl’s home?” She asks him self-depreciatingly.

“Do not put yourself down like that Guinevere.” He says. “You know that I see you as more than just a servant.”

“As what then?” She says, and Lancelot takes in her frazzled hair and tear-stained eyes. He’s really caused a lot of trouble. “As a friend? As a confidant? Or as some backup plan in case Merlin’s not in love with you?”

Guinevere’s one of the kindest and most gentle souls Lancelot has ever met, but right now, all he can see is a woman who’s distraught and enraged.

“You’ve been giving me signs that you like me back, Lancelot. How can you lead me on like this?” Guinevere continues. “Ever since the time in Hengist’s stupid lair! We kissed then! How can you do that when you’re in love with someone else?” Lancelot has no answer. He does not know what came over him, too. “I thought you’re a man of honor, Lancelot. I thought I knew you.”

Her words are like barbs to his heart, like she’s using the shards of her own broken heart to make him bleed, to make him hurt as much as it hurts for her. He is here to apologize but he can see that doing so right now is pointless. It’s still too raw for Guinevere to forgive him and he doesn’t want to add insult to the injury he’s done.

“I take full responsibility for all the hurt you’re bearing now.” He says instead. “I admit that I have not been honorable enough to tell you that my heart belongs to someone else. But that kiss, it wasn’t my intention to lead you on. I wanted you to know how much I care for you. That despite the desperation of our situation, with the wilddeoren and Hengist’s men, you’ll know that someone truly cares for you.”

“So you’ve never seen me as a lover? Is that what you’re saying?” Guinevere asks, tears running down her cheeks, and Lancelot wants to wipe them off of her but he knows that the gesture will cause more harm than good. She slumps down to a seat, elbows on her knees and face on her hands. “Why are you telling me all this now?”

“I want you to know that all of this is my fault.” Lancelot explains. “It’s me who you should be mad at. Please spare Merlin from all of this. The neckerchief, it wasn’t really meant as a –” 

“He’s already explained as much.” Guinevere cuts him off. “And no, I don’t blame him. Not anymore, once he’s told me of his real intention with the neckerchief.”

“He still seems shaken when I got here.” Lancelot notes and Guinevere looks away.

“I told him that I can’t bring myself to talk to him still.” Guinevere says. “I told him that he’s the one who holds the heart of the man I love and being with him is too painful a reminder of what I could never have.”

Lancelot freezes at that. “He doesn’t know that I feel for him that way.” He says, panicked. He wants to tell Merlin in his own terms, not through another person’s. “To him, all of this is just a big misunderstanding about the importance of a scarlet neckerchief!”

Guinevere looks at him with a leer. “I’ve just bared my feelings to you right there and you latch on to the fact that I told him you love him.” She laughs, manically. 

It’s another offense and Lancelot wonders if he’s any gentleman at all. He’s hurt her a lot in a matter of a day. “I’m sorry.”

She waves him off, the fight all drained out of her. “Don’t worry, Lancelot. He didn’t believe me anyway. He says you’re in love with me. You’ll get your chance to tell him yourself.” She gets up and moves to the door before looking expectantly at Lancelot. A dismissal.

“Have a good night, Guinevere.”

“I’m sure I won’t.” She retorts.

And what can Lancelot say to that? She’s hurting and it’ll take some time. So he stands, thanking her for giving him the chance to explain. She does not say anything else and he begins his way back to the castle. 

The sun has fully set and the stars are shining bright above. He hasn’t noticed how long he’s been talking with Guinevere and he realizes that the feast to be held in his honor has probably started and he is required to be there, no matter how undeserving he feels he is.

He is already late but he is still in his armor from earlier in the fight, dirty and sweaty. He hurries down to the knights’ quarters to change into something more comfortable. The hallways are silent and void of human presence, everyone presumably at the feast.

So it is to Lancelot’s surprise that he finds someone inside the quarters. At his footsteps, the man turns from where he’s leant down a table scribbling away at a tiny piece of parchment. _Sir Kay._

The knight straightens up quickly. He is stiff and Lancelot detect a quiet rage simmering beneath his blank exterior.

“Sir Kay.” He greets.

The man sneers at him. “ _Commoner._ ” Lancelot’s never imagined so much contempt can be held in a single word but Sir Kay manages it and it sends shivers down Lancelot’s spine.

Sir Kay’s never been his biggest fan and he decides to be the bigger man and let that comment be. He’s moving to his bed to get some of his clothes but he’s pulled back and slammed against a wall, upending a nearby table and causing a noisy clatter as various suits of armor fall from it to the floor. When Lancelot regains his bearings, he feels a prickling in his neck and he leans down just the tiniest of fraction to see a sword pointed right against him there.

**_ARTHUR (IV)_ **

Arthur has always dreamed of having Merlin in his arms but never that he is crying. He’s imagined him smiling up at him from his lap, looking at him with dopey love struck eyes and that wide adorable grin of his. 

But no. He’s absolutely miserable right now. And Arthur just holds him, nevertheless, while Merlin clings on to him in return like a lifeline. Eventually though, Merlin settles, and is reduced to quiet sniffles.

“I’m sorry.” He says to Arthur, straightening up. “That must have been uncomfortable to sit through. Thanks though, really. It means a lot to me.”

“It wasn’t uncomfortable.” Arthur says, and quickly blushes at the thought that it is in fact the opposite of uncomfortable. Merlin in his arms is just his dreams turned to reality.

Merlin smiles softly at him. “Come, let’s get you dressed then.” He not exactly morose but there’s still a tinge of sadness in him. It’s so obvious that he’s not yet fine, considering that he hasn’t mocked Arthur yet.

“You know I wouldn’t mind if you take the night off.” Arthur says as he takes off the shirt he is wearing and then raises his arms expectantly, waiting for Merlin to put on his ceremonial shirt.

“Are you sure, sire?” Merlin asks. “I’m fine really. I mean, not that fine but surely I can still do my tasks. I mean, I still can polish your boots and armor. The shirt mending and mucking out the stables, though, I can do without.”

“No, you’re off all of those tasks tonight. You’re already useless when you’re chirpy, Merlin.” Arthur retorts. “What more if you’re sad and moping?”

A few seconds and there is no reply forthcoming. Arthur quickly realizes that it’s the wrong thing to say. _Ugh. Merlin’s probably rubbing off on him if he’s acquired his lack of brain-to-mouth filter. But really it’s just their normal banter! He has no clue how to act or what to say in front of a maudlin Merlin!_ “Look, Merlin.” He says instead. “All I’m saying is you deserve a bit of rest. And I’m giving it to you now and if you don’t take it now, you sure as hell won’t be getting it again anytime soon.”

Merlin gives out a sigh, busy with arranging Arthur’s clothes. “If you say so.” He neatly folds the clothes Arthur’s just removed and places them in a basket beside the wardrobe. Arthur just observes him going about. “I’ll clean up around here before I retire to my rooms. You can head off to the feast Arthur. You do realize you’re late.”

Oh. Right. The feast. He should have been there a half hour ago. “Right.” He get his sword from his bedside table and sheathes it to his side. He’s walking out the door when he turns back to take a last look at Merlin and sees how gaunt he is. Arthur knows that Merlin’s always been on the lean side, but seeing him now, he looks so unhealthily thin! The stresses of the day are definitely taking its toll on him.

He stops in his tracks and turns around to walk back to where Merlin’s now fixing his bed. “Why don’t you stay here for a while? I’ll send George here to bring you some food from the feast.” When Merlin opens his mouth to respond, surely to decline Arthur’s offer, he quickly adds, “Seriously, Merlin. You seem really tired and I know you haven’t eaten dinner yet.”

“I can eat… something at Gaius’ chambers.” Merlin says.

“Are you seriously declining good food for some of Gaius’ leftover gruel?” Arthur asks him.

A short moment. “I suppose I can wait a bit.” From what Arthur can see, the smile that Merlin’s donning on his face is a very pleased smile which brings out one of his own.

“Good. Now go sit down by the table,” Arthur orders. “And don’t do any more chores, all right? And then after you eat, you can go have your rest.”

Merlin nods, that lovely smile still adorning his face.

Satisfied, Arthur leaves him then. There’s a skip to his step as he walks all the way to the great halls. He’s taking care of Merlin and he has made him smile.

As he enters, the din hastily vanishes and everyone’s eyes are on him. He strides regally all the way to the dais where he gives the perfunctory speech prepared for him by Merlin. As he speaks the words off memory, his eyes scan the crowd. Everybody seems to be here already.

“…and let us all give a round of applause for the champion of the recently concluded tourney, Lancelot!”

There is an awkward moment where everybody looks around for the said man, only to have their search bear nothing as Lancelot seems to be not around at all. Huh. So not everyone’s here yet after all.

“It appears that our guest of honor is not yet in attendance.” He says in the growing awkward silence. “But do not let that get in the way of our merry making. Please make yourselves at home and carry on with the ale. The food shall be served shortly.”

When the guests begin having conversations amongst themselves again, Arthur takes his seat at the high table where his only companions are the councilors of the kingdom. There is Gaius to his left and beside the physician is the library custodian, Geoffrey of Monmouth. No one is seated to his immediate right, where his future beloved is supposed to sit. Many times he has imagined it to be Merlin, and to this day, he hopes it to be the case.

At the thought of his servant, he calls out to George who’s been serving wine to the noble at the left-most corner of the high table.

“George, do bring a plate of meats, cheese and fruits to my chambers.” Arthur orders. “And tell Merlin to eat them.”

George is always subservient and if he has any qualms about serving food to a fellow servant, he does not show it. “As you wish, sire.” There is no incriminating tone there at all.

When the servant leaves, Arthur takes another longing look at the seat next to him. He wishes Merlin can be there beside him. Gods know the seat’s been vacant for so long. His mother, Queen Ygraine, used to occupy that seat. When she died giving birth to him, no one has ever been on that special seat right next to the ruling king. When he was Crown Prince, he sat to Uther’s left and Morgana beside him.

He’s staring at the said seat until he realizes that the one next to it is also empty. It’s the one reserved for the competition’s champion and he’s reminded that Lancelot’s not yet around to take it. Why is he not here?

He knows that Lancelot is an honorable man and he is not going to do anything untoward to Merlin, nor is he going to purposely miss this feast in his honor just to have a moment with Merlin, but paranoia takes over him and he’s not proud at how his mind’s working selfishly at the moment.

He spots George walking toward the servants’ secret door, having just finished picking out the assortment of food Arthur’s asked him to take to Merlin. He beckons to him, and years of training from the man makes him attuned to royal gestures even in just the periphery of his vision. He walks over to Arthur. “Is the food for Merlin not to your satisfaction, sire?”

Arthur takes a moment to look at the food, judges it adequate and he says as much. “But really, I also need you to see if anyone’s in my chambers besides Merlin. And if there is no one, ask him if anyone’s been around.”

Those words probably reveal too much to George about how much Arthur cares for Merlin but the man is a perfect servant. He will never betray Arthur’s confidence. “As you wish, sire.”

When George leaves, he hears a knowing cough from his side. He turns to see Gaius staring at him with one eyebrow arched into high heavens.

“What is it, Gaius?” He asks, cheeks reddening at the scrutiny.

“May I ask why Merlin’s being fed in your chambers, sire?” Gaius asks.

“Er, he’s currently indisposed.” Arthur mutters. _Damn it. Why is he stuttering? He is king for god’s sake!_ “I would have had him rest in your chambers but he’s too tired to even walk around so I let him rest there a while.”

“Is it right that he’s going to stay there for the night, then?” Gaius probes further and Arthur’s getting the feeling that he’s being interrogated by Gaius as a father protective of the virtue of his child.

“No!” Arthur half shouts. “I mean, no, Gaius. He’ll just a bit of food and when he’s gathered enough energy, he’ll go back to your chambers and sleep the night.”

“And here I thought you’ve finally gathered the courage to tell him you like him.” Gaius tuts and turns away from Arthur when a servant places the first course in front of him.

Arthur’s in disbelief. Is he that obvious that even Gaius knows he likes – heck, loves – Merlin? If so, who else knows? Does Merlin know too?

“For the record, Merlin has no idea.” Gaius says without looking. “So if I were you, sire, tell him already, lest someone else decides to profess their undying love for him first. Gods know why that boy has a lot of women and men falling for him.”

Arthur splutters at this. He can’t decide if it’s more because he just realizes that there is, in fact, a lot more others vying for Merlin’s affections, other than him and Lancelot, or the fact that Gaius has no idea how gorgeous, adorable and endearing his godson is!

“Lots of others?” He asks incredulously. As always, his jealousy and possessiveness wins over his rational thinking.

“Yes, some of the knights,” Gaius answers helpfully. “And almost all the maidservants, except for Gwen.”

Arthur’s not liking this at all. His Merlin’s not meant for anyone else. Only him. He wishes to leave the feast right then and there, to see Merlin, to talk to him and to tell him that he loves him. But no, etiquette dictates that he stay there for at least an hour more before he can retire to his chambers, and by that time, he’s pretty sure Merlin’s gone to his own room and sleep. Or maybe Lancelot’s talking to him right now, stealing him out of Arthur’s grasp.

Oh, he can’t wait to get out of here and make sure that everything’s still right in the world.

**_GWAINE (IV)_ **

When he stumbles upon an empty physician’s quarters, Gwaine’s thoughts quickly take a treacherous route and he fears that Merlin may have been abducted or injured in one way or another. But Arthur does not seem to be worried about his absence at the feast. That can either mean that he knows where Merlin is and that he is safe or that he has not noticed Merlin’s disappearance yet. He sincerely wishes that it is the former, even though knowing Arthur is privy of Merlin’s current whereabouts sends an unsettling feeling in his gut. Thinking, Gwaine realizes, is not a fun thing to do when one is halfway lost in the world of being shitfaced.

He’s just decided to check in Arthur’s chambers when he catches a glimpse of someone turning around a corner toward the knights’ quarters. He thinks it may have been Lancelot but he cannot be sure. One, it has happened all too fast. And two, he’s half-drunk so his vision isn’t exactly as stable as he wishes it to be. Intrigued, he temporarily postpones his search for Merlin in exchange for following possibly-Lancelot. And if it is indeed Lancelot, then he does not have to worry about him having secret liaisons with his Merlin.

He reaches the corner just in time to see Lancelot enter the rooms, alone, thank goodness. He’s already turning back to resume his search for Merlin when a cacophony of heavy metals falling jerks him out of his slight inebriation. He’s at the doors of the knight’s quarters at an instant and what he sees as he opens the doors makes his blood run cold.

He and Lancelot may not see eye to eye in terms of who holds Merlin’s heart, but Lancelot is still a great friend of Gwaine’s and he’s certain that the man can do no wrong to justify Sir Kay pointing a sword at his neck. But since he’s opened the door noisily, Kay’s been alerted of his presence.

“Move and I’ll run your friend through.” The errant knight warns.

“Run him through.” Gwaine challenges. “See if I won’t do the same to you.”

Sir Kay grits his teeth. Despite being a hot-headed man, he’s pretty smart and he knows when he’s outnumbered. He sheathes his sword angrily and mutters, “Stupid commoners. When will the king see that lowlifes have no place in the ranks?”

“Funny. I am of the idea that raising a sword against your fellow knight outside of formal competition is a dishonorable act, Sir Kay.” Gwaine says. “That, to me, is not worthy of the knighthood bestowed upon you, don’t you think?” Did he just answer back to the git? Whatever doused him off of his drunken state is definitely wearing off now.

“What do you know about honor?” Kay bites out. He’s livid and Gwaine’s loving how riled up he’s becoming.

“More than you, it would seem.” Gwaine’s tone is smug.

“You’ll regret this,” Sir Kay says to Gwaine, and he turns to look at Lancelot who is standing stock still by the wall where he’s left him. “Both of you.” And with that, he pushes past Gwaine. Where he is going after this, no one knows. Neither knight also notices the parchment Sir Kay’s been gripping tightly in one hand.

When they’re left alone, Lancelot coughs quietly, capturing the attention of Gwaine.

“I’d like to thank you for your most opportune appearance, my friend.” Lancelot tells him. “I think he’ll have killed me on the spot had you not been here at that exact moment.”

“Don’t mention it.” Gwaine waves him off.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Lancelot asks then.

“I was merely wondering where you were.” Gwaine answers somewhat truthfully. It does not matter that he’s actually looking for Merlin. He also wanted to know the whereabouts of Lancelot and that the two men are not spending some time together. “You are the guest of honor in the feast, after all.”

At the mention of the feast, Lancelot’s body turns into action. He fixes himself and puts on his most appropriate clothes.

“I’d have to get going, Lancelot.” Gwaine says after a moment. He has to be certain about Merlin’s whereabouts first before he can safely spend the evening with his ale. And there’s also the fact that he has to apologize to Merlin.

“Right, you can go ahead.” Lancelot’s voice is muffled by the shirt he’s struggling to put over his head. “And really, thank you for helping me with Sir Kay. Gods know that man hates us common folk a lot.”

Gwaine finds it unnecessary to add to that so he just leaves Lancelot there and he moves on to the chambers of the king. Along the way, he barely escapes colliding with a servant he vaguely remembers as George or something.

Miraculously, Gwaine does get to Arthur’s rooms despite his worsening state of sobriety. He opens the doors as stealthily as possible. And as he peers inside, his intuition is proven correct. Merlin’s there sitting at Arthur’s desk, eating what can only be food from the feast as morosely as any depressed man does.

His heart clenches at the view and he knows that in some way, he’s part of the reason why Merlin is so miserable now. He pushes down the sick that’s threatening to come out of his throat and strengthens his resolve.

He sees the moment Merlin’s eyes widen in surprise upon noticing him. The fork that’s halfway on its journey to his mouth is all of a sudden dropped to the floor and Merlin himself stands up gracelessly. “Gwaine!” Merlin’s squeaks. _(Yes, Merlin. It’s a squeak no matter how much you deny it.)_ He looks apprehensive and untrusting, and maybe Gwaine does deserve that look. He’s left him alone after all, not giving him any chance to explain.

“Hey.” Gwaine says.

“What are you doing – ” Merlin’s about to ask but stops short when he notices Gwaine wobble. “Are you drunk?”

“What? Me? No.” Gwaine denies. “I can hold my liquor just fine. You on the other hand…” He tuts. “You are a lightweight.”

“Hence the not drinking.” Merlin replies mock-testily. And then his expression morphs into a sad frown. “Gwaine, about earlier – ”

“I’m sorry.” Gwaine butts in. His stupid ale-induced stupor makes him cut off Merlin.

“What?”

“I said I’m sorry.” Gwaine repeats. “Shouldn’t have left you…”

“No, Gwaine.” Merlin says, walking towards him cautiously. Or maybe walking to his right. He can’t understand. There are two Merlins and they’re going in different directions. Maybe this is a good thing. One Merlin for him and one for Lancelot. There. No more rivalry. “…did you hear me?”

He most certainly does not know what Merlin’s just said.

“Huh?”

A sigh. “Gwaine, you’ve obviously drunk more ale than you can handle.” Merlin tells him. “And that in itself is alarming. You’ve always been able to handle your drink. How many cups have you downed this time?”

“I’ve lost count.” Gwaine slurs. “But who cares? At least you’re with me.” He knows he’s losing all his senses and Merlin’s standing way too close for him to be able to hold back.

“Gwaine?” Merlin’s really worried and Gwaine wants to chase those worries away. He places his hands on Merlin’s shoulders.

“You’re very beautiful.” He whispers to Merlin’s ear.

A shiver. “I-I think you’ve established that earlier.” Merlin tells him and when Gwaine tilts his head back to look at Merlin askance, he adds. “During lunch, before Gwen entered. You already told me that.”

Gwaine hums quietly. He vaguely remembers that he did. “I have, haven’t I?” He says, more to himself than to anyone else but Merlin says “Yeah.”

“But have I told you that I love you?” Gwaine asks. At the back of all this drunkenness, his subconscious is shouting at him that this isn’t the way he’s supposed to confess his feelings. He’s been planning to do it in a romantic gesture of sorts but now he’s gone and blown away any chances of being able to do that. Now, all he can do is wait for Merlin’s response.

“Er…” Merlin’s blushing and Gwaine can’t decide whether that’s a victory of sorts or not. “Well, um. Thanks? I guess?” Huh, Merlin’s not too enthusiastic. Bad sign.

“I’d like to kiss you now.” He says anyway. He swoops in for a smooch but the flat of a palm meets his lips instead. Dismayed, he looks up to see Merlin looking at him with concern. Deep shame pools at the bottom of his stomach. Drunk or not, he should never have forced himself upon Merlin like that.

“I’m sorry, Gwaine.” _No. No. No. You shouldn’t be the one saying that._ “You’re too drunk to think things clearly. Why don’t you go take a rest? And tomorrow when you’re sober, think about what you’ve just told me. If you’re still serious about everything, well, we’ll see?” Merlin tells him. His eyes are hopeful and he’s worrying at his lower lip so tightly that Gwaine’s concerned he may have drawn blood.

“All right.” He amends, just so he can see Merlin relax. “I’ll think about it.” He takes a step back, and creates a distance between them.

“I’ll see you then.” Merlin says, still blushing. He can’t seem to look straight into Gwaine’s eyes.

As Gwaine closes the doors behind him, he thinks about how awfully he’s messed things up. But he has a chance to make things right tomorrow, and he has every plan to make it so. Bur first, he has to get rid of the massive hangover that’s sure to come to him when he wakes up.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize I haven't put up this disclaimer: The TV Show Merlin and its characters are not mine. BBC and Shine do. I'm just borrowing my fave characters to create a story that I hope people would enjoy reading, the same way I enjoyed writing it. <3 Again, thank you for all the comments and kudoses. All of you are the best!

**_LANCELOT (V)_ **

It’s been three days since the feast and the jovial atmosphere in Camelot has gone down a notch. And with the excitement gone, the tension among the inhabitants of the castle is sticking out like a sore thumb. Nobles and servants alike who have nothing better to spend their time with notice and talk about how certain members of the royal household and the knighthood are acting all kinds of weird since the said feast.

For one, servants take notice of the fact that the ever amicable Guinevere has been avoiding her best friend, Merlin like he’s caught the plague. She’s also been noticed to be spending less time with Sir Lancelot, given how she always seemed to be by his side all the time before he’s won the tournament. People can’t seem to think of any reason why Lancelot and Guinevere have grown apart in a matter of days except that they had a lover’s tiff. It’s close to the truth, Lancelot will give them that. But their tales lack major details to it that it’s still entirely wrong. Yes, the rift between them is a matter of the heart, but it is in no way a lover’s tiff given that it is only Guinevere who sees Lancelot in a romantic light.

But the people, the servants in particular, seem to think that the falling out between Merlin and Guinevere is a side-effect of yet another falling out in the persons of King Arthur and Lancelot who, they believe, have been at each other’s nerves ever since Lancelot has bested the king in the tourney. They can’t have been any more wrong.

Lancelot lets them think that, however, for the truth is still too sensitive to be public knowledge. If they know how convoluted the relationships have gone amongst the four of them, and that’s not even considering Gwaine into the equation yet, It sure to cause an uproar. The king’s enemies will see this as a momentary weakness and they’ll get the chance to take Camelot apart. He can’t let that happen. Things have got to be fixed.

And with the thought of things that need fixing, he remembers how he’s made Merlin feel awkward around him, now that he’s somehow inadvertently soured Merlin’s friendship with Guinevere. It’s a cause for lament, how they’ve lost the easy companionship that they’ve always shared before. But more than him and Guinevere, he also notices how Merlin suddenly tenses up when in the vicinity of Gwaine and the said knight’s been unreasonably jittery around him too. What’s going on with him? He makes a mental note to track down Gwaine and ask him about it later on.

Right now, he has to focus in training given the fact that Kay’s intent on killing him out here in the open, in the line of sight of everyone, most particularly the king. The said king’s watching their ‘training’ match with a calculating eye. He doesn’t know what Arthur’s thinking but he hopes it includes the man telling them that training for the day is done.

He sidesteps to avoid an incoming attack. And just when Kay’s about to launch another wild attack, he hears Arthur say, “All right, everyone. That’s enough training for today.”

Sir Kay has no choice but to stop. He growls and leans a little forward to whisper at Lancelot’s ear. “Don’t think it’s all over, _commoner._ I’ll get rid of your lot soon enough, just you see.”

Kay’s been threatening him a lot these days, and the other knights that are not of noble birth say they have experienced the same. And for that, Lancelot’s forced to think that this has got to do with more than just him winning against the man in the tourney.

He does not bother to reply to the man’s taunt and is rewarded with Sir Kay grunting at him in disgust before trudging heavily back to the castle, leaving him all by himself at the middle of the grounds. He hears before he sees Arthur walk up behind him. It’s a little bit surprising, given that they haven’t talked in the past three days. Their last interaction has been at the feast and it’s been stiltedly cordial at best. They have ended up taking seats near each other at the high table with an unoccupied one between them. And aside from necessary conversations here and there, they spent that night in silence. It has been so awkward that he’s even thankful Merlin’s not been around to add to the tension. Though later, when he’s inquired of the servant’s whereabouts, he’s been horribly jealous when Arthur smugly informed him that Merlin’s been staying in his chambers the entire time.

“You seem to be driving quite a lot of people away, Lancelot.” Arthur’s voice is casual, joking even, but there is no denying the spitefulness of his chosen words. “What could you ever do to earn the ire of Sir Kay?”

“I believe he is of the opinion that the common folk have no place in the knights.” Lancelot answers.

Arthur’s expression sours at that, giving Lancelot the feeling that this isn’t the first time Arthur’s heard about Sir Kay’s attitude against common-born knights. “Well, it is my decree and he will do well to abide it.”

“Tell him that yourself, sire.” Lancelot retorts. “He seems pretty hell bent on proving to you that we are not worth the knighthood and extricating us from it.”

Arthur’s face turns stonier. “Has he done anything untoward?”

Lancelot takes a serious look at Arthur. “He has.” He answers. “But I can handle it, Arthur. There is no need to concern yourself about this.” He turns to walk past Arthur, indicating to Arthur that he’s done with this conversation.

But Arthur has other ideas. The king grabs him by the arm, the one where his wound from three days ago has barely healed and he stifles a gasp at the pain that surges through his arm. It isn’t overly excruciating but is enough to halt him from his steps.

“Tell me.” The king’s tone brooks no argument. “We may be vying for the attention of the same man, but you _are_ still my friend. And I took you into the ranks regardless of your status and if Kay’s not agreeable to that and has done something that I don’t consent with, then I demand to know.”

Lancelot’s a kind and chivalrous man. And he is Arthur’s loyal knight. But before that, he is also a proud young man. Sir Kay’s no threat to him and Arthur does not have to worry about him. He says as much.

“Lancelot…” Arthur does not give it up.

“I’m serious, Arthur.” Lancelot says. “I can handle it.” He frees his arm from Arthur’s grasp and stalks back to the knights’ quarters, where he proceeds to vent out his frustration over the events of the past few days in removing his armor, throwing it haphazardly around his space before crashing down on the bed and succumbing to a tiredness-induced slumber, heedless of the sun still high up in the sky.

Almost an hour later, he wakes up to Percival’s panicked voice screaming, “Lancelot! Wake up! Merlin’s gone!”

**_ARTHUR (V)_ **

By the time Arthur’s returned to his chambers that night of the feast, Merlin’s already gone, leaving behind a note with a barely legible scrawl of thanks. It makes Arthur feel all giddy inside and he comes to the realization that despite his loss, things aren’t so bad at all.

He can’t have been any more wrong.

Three days after and things between him and Lancelot are tense. It’s grating on his nerves, the way he can’t seem to put aside his ever present resentment of Lancelot, the man who has come to challenge him in matters of the heart. And then there’s also Gwaine who has been rather avoidant with him.

What’s going on with them? Suddenly it feels like his most trusted knights are crumbling the foundations of the stronghold that they aim to protect Camelot with. If they’re broken and divided amongst themselves, then how can they promise that the entire kingdom of Camelot will not suffer the same fate?

It’s with this in mind that he resolves to try and be civil with Lancelot, as a noble king should be with his loyal subjects. The concerns of their hearts should not interfere with their dynamics as defenders of Camelot’s land.

He swiftly deals with the knight-in-training who’s unlucky enough to get Arthur as his sparring partner just in time to look behind him where Lancelot magnificently parries a rather vicious attempt of Sir Kay. There’s something in the way with which both fighters stand, as if they’re tense and that they fully intend to run the other through. No, it’s only Kay who’s fighting like it’s a matter of life and death. Lancelot’s just been on the defensive all this time.

He calls off the training for the day when he notices that it’s turning out to be more than just a practice match between the two. And once the group of knights have dispersed, he strikes up a conversation with Lancelot, intent on following through with his earlier resolve. And if he does let loose a scathing remark, who is to say that he has to be perfectly amiable? He has his pride, after all. And Merlin does call him a prat all the time, so why not put evidence to the claim?

Moments later and Arthur finds himself standing all alone in the middle of the field. Lancelot’s just walked out on him. He feels his irritation build up. Where’s that bumbling fool of a beautiful manservant of his?

“Merlin!” He shouts. A clanging from a few feet away behind him alerts him of Merlin’s presence at the edge of the field. He’s just dropped the helmet he must have been polishing before Arthur startled him and the king cringes internally at scaring his already distraught manservant. His irritation is greatly subdued. And even more so at Merlin’s attempt at scrambling toward him.

“What is it, Arthur?” Ah, he seems to be feeling a little better now if he’s not addressing his king properly. 

“Pick up whatever it is you’re polishing and take it to my rooms. Training’s done for today.” Arthur orders. “You have no need to spend the rest of the morning outside.” Truthfully, he just wants Merlin away from other potential suitors. Gaius’ word about Merlin having a lot of admirers still ringing in his head like a mantra.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Merlin answers jovially. “Honestly, how you knights can stay underneath all this sun in your armor is a mystery to me.”

“That’s because you’re a twig, Merlin.” Arthur retorts. “And you also have the endurance of one.”

“Oi!” Merlin’s mock-indignant. “I’ll have you know that I can stay under the sun –”

“Do shut up, Merlin.” Arthur says, walking rather briskly, knowing that Merlin can’t catch up with him at this pace. “And hurry up, will you?”

“I’m carrying _your_ armor, you know?” Merlin huffs out. “It’s not that easy to walk and carry an armor _this size_ at the same time.”

Arthur stops and waits for Merlin to catch up. “Are you calling me fat again, Merlin?”

“When have I ever?”

Merlin grins at him while he can only glare back. He seems to be looking a lot better now than three days ago. Sure, there are still worry lines marring his face, as if he’s perpetually troubled by something or another, but he’s smiling and talking now, to him at least. Well, if that’s going to be the case, he’s going to bring back their brand of bonding: banter. He removes his gauntlets and vambraces and puts it atop the pile in Merlin’s hands. The said pile teeters precariously as Merlin struggles to find a new balance for all the heavy metal.

“Did you just add to the things I have to polish?” Merlin asks incredulously. “Why you absolute pillock!”

“You’ll shut your mouth if you know what’s good for you, Merlin.” Arthur hides a smirk as he looks at the indignant expression on Merlin’s face. At the very least, he’s responding more and more naturally now. “Unless, of course, you’d rather polish the entire repertoire.”

“I’d really rather not, thank you.”

“Lazy git.” Arthur shakes his head fondly. “Had I asked Guinevere, she would never have said no. Because unlike some idiotic manservant, she does know how to be a proper maidservant.”

Foot in the mouth, they call it. Arthur’s said it before he can think things through. He’s been enjoying the return of a happy and bickering Merlin that he fails to filter his mind of the topics that will trigger maudlin Merlin.

He dares to look at his manservant who has gone all quiet after his careless remark. His face is pale white, as if spooked or humiliated so unexpectedly. He can feel and see the hurt in Merlin’s eyes, as if they’re saying, _“How could you?”_

“M-Merlin I’m –” Whatever Arthur’s meant to say, he does not finish it as Merlin interrupts him, ever the insolent servant.

“I-it’s all right, Arthur.” He says, looking down. Arthur catches sight of downturned lips and he can’t help feeling dreadful, knowing that he’s the one who put it there. “You don’t have to apologize. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish polishing in the armory.”

Great. Just great. Arthur’s messed this up royally. How can he have been so insensitive to bring up Guinevere in the conversation when the two servants aren’t exactly in speaking terms as of the moment?

He hasn’t even really meant it. He’s been trying to bring back their usual banter! _Really, what’s with today and people walking out on him?_ Perhaps Merlin’s taken to mean it seriously? That Arthur will rather have Guinevere than him as a servant? Absolutely not the case!

His ego wins over the beat of his heart. He lets Merlin be. He can always apologize for what he’s said come luncheon after all. They take different turns in the hallway, Merlin to the direction of the armory, and Arthur to his room.

However, luncheon’s already well gone and past and Arthur’s attempted to read through half of the petitions he will have to worry about tomorrow but Merlin hasn’t come around yet. Another servant has taken up his meal and he finds it disconcerting that Merlin’s stayed this cross with him for this long. He’s never done so before. A few hours and he’ll come around, as jolly as he always is. So what’s different, this time?

He decides to check on his moping manservant in the armory. But when he gets there, he sees neither hide nor hair of Merlin. Instead, what he finds is a pool of blood on the floor and a piece of parchment on one of the cleaning tables where _his_ armor is cast haphazardly about.

Cold dread pools at the pit of his stomach as he moves toward the table. He snatches up the note with a shaking hand. It’s a missive for Lancelot but it’s out in the open where anyone can see, and whatever it says, Arthur’s certain it’s about Merlin so the hell he cares if it’s addressed to Lancelot.

He unfolds it, reads it, and feels his entire world crumble down around him.

_“I have your precious Merlin, Lancelot. If you want him back, then meet me at the cave by the riverside, northwest of Camelot. Bring your commoner friends. Be here by nightfall or else, you can say goodbye to your fairy lover.”_

_-Kay_

And then comes the anger. _Kay’s going to pay for this._

He composes himself before he calls out to the guards. “Gather the knights! My manservant’s been kidnapped!”

The guards, like everyone else, have known how important the servant is to the king (except Kay, apparently), and they know better than to question why their king is willing to spend time and effort rescuing a kidnapped servant.

**_GWAINE (V)_ **

There are two kinds of drunkards – the ones who remember what they did in their drunken haze and the ones who don’t. Gwaine, unfortunately, belongs to the former. It is with excruciatingly great detail that he remembers how he’s made a fool of himself nights before.

He groans as he remembers the way he’s slurred through his love confession. Sure, he’s been planning to do it since the tournament, but in his plans, he’s envisioned himself as sober enough so that Merlin can realize how serious he really is.

Now there’s like this chasm between them that seems too impossible to cross. He’s screwed it all up. Merlin can’t even look at him in the eye and it’s not like he can look the servant in the eye either. They’ve been avoiding each other, walking on eggshells, and Gwaine laments the easy camaraderie that they’ve lost between them.

Three miserable days since that fateful night and Gwaine just really wants to kill himself of guilt and shame. Gone is the Gwaine who is loud and merry. Here is the Gwaine who is unusually silent and is lacking in appetite for both food and ale. He even finds himself unable to catch sleep and dark shadows have begun showing underneath his eyes.

The knights have been concerned for his wellbeing once they realized that he’s been despondent and glum, Percival most of all. But when they ask him if there’s anything that troubles him, he merely grunts and replies with a scant, “I’m fine.”

From the looks on their faces, Gwaine knows he’s convinced no one.

And it’s only because of the constant badgering from Percival and Elyan that he finally succumbs and tells them of the dilemma he’s been facing.

They’re preparing for the training they’ll be having today, sparring matches, Arthur has announced the previous evening. With the sun barely in the horizon, however, the knights find themselves still with enough time to stall in the knights’ quarters before going out in the field.

“I told Merlin I love him.” He announces without preamble. The two other knights with him startle and they gape at him.

“When was this?” Percival asks, his expression unreadable.

“At the night of the feast.” Gwaine answers.

“Really?” Elyan tilts his head. “Weren’t you drunk that evening? I distinctly remember you drank about a dozen cups before feigning you need some air.”

“You didn’t really need some air, did you?” Percival says, and there is an unexplainable bitterness with the way he says it. “Instead, you were looking for Merlin.”

“Yes.” What can Gwaine do other than to admit to the truth?

“And Merlin?” Elyan probes further. “How did he take it?”

“Not well, considering that he’s been avoiding me like I’ve got the worst disease in the world ever since the birth of the human race.” Gwaine says, frustration melting into his voice. It’s just a subtle movement but Gwaine notices the way Percival’s tense shoulders relax at his response. Elyan shakes his head in sympathy.

Soon enough it is time for them to leave and training goes the same way it had the past two days – awkwardly. Merlin’s there at the edge of the field, polishing something or another of Arthur’s. And not once has Merlin acknowledged his presence. The servant’s head is bent down, absorbed in his task, but Gwaine knows that Merlin knows he’s there. He’s just avoiding him. And Gwaine doesn’t really know how to feel about that.

He despondently spars with a greatly concerned Percival who takes it easy on him, knowing he isn’t in the right state to fight, even if it’s only training.

The seriousness of Lancelot’s practice duel jolts him to the present though, as memories of Sir Kay’s threats invade his mind. He’s tempted to go between them to stop their squabble from escalating but before he can walk up to them, Arthur’s authoritative voice signals the end for the day’s training.

Together with the other knights, Gwaine heads down to the armory to deposit their weapons and mail. This moment has always been spent in brittle silence since it entails them being in close quarters with some of the knights who still resent them for being not of noble blood. And that is why Gwaine is only glad to have been one of the earliest to finish removing his armor and placing it in a cupboard for safekeeping.

But before he can exit the armory, the doors swing open and in comes Merlin, struggling with what can only be Arthur’s entire repertoire of armor. Gwaine immediately goes to his rescue. Perhaps he can also take this chance to apologize.

“Thank you.” Merlin says, flushed from the exertion. “I swear Arthur’s armor is going to be the death of me.”

After three days without it, hearing Merlin’s voice again hits Gwaine like a huge wave of the ocean, enlivening his spirit. Merlin’s talking to him.

“It’s quite all right, Merlin.” He says with a smile. “Where would you like to put this?”

“On the table, please.” Though there’s still that undercurrent of apprehension in Merlin’s tone, Gwaine counts it as a win that Merlin’s addressing him now. “I still have to polish them.”

“Polish?” Gwaine’s seriously outraged for Merlin’s sake. “These are like the shiniest pieces of armor I’ve ever laid eyes on! Whatever does it need an extra polish for?”

“Er…” Gwaine waits for Merlin’s response expectantly. But an elbow to his side from Elyan makes him reevaluate Merlin’s hesitance and he realizes that he’s gone too far to what Merlin can tolerate of their interaction.

“Merlin, listen.” He ventures. “I’m really sorry. For that evening.” No response. He cannot even meet his eye. “For getting ahead of myself. But I do want it, Merlin. I want you. I am serious about you.”

Merlin’s face remains turned down.

“Come on, Gwaine.” Percival says. “Give Merlin some time to think about it, yeah?”

Gwaine reluctantly agrees and he follows the tall knight out of the armory, not realizing that they’ve left Merlin in the company of one last knight inside.

**_LANCELOT (VI)_ **

There’s no need for Lancelot to be told twice. If Merlin’s in trouble, then Lancelot’s alert and ready for action. He follows as everyone else races up to the throne room where Arthur’s convened them for the search.

“To most of you, Merlin is just a servant.” He hears Arthur address the assembled knights. “But he is worth more than just a servant to me.”

Briefly, Lancelot’s jealousy flares up but when he looks around, he understands why Arthur has to say what he said. A lot of the gathered knights are annoyed and some are even bordering on mutinous. They’re whisked away from whatever they have been doing for the sake of a servant after all.

“He is responsible for eliminating Morgana’s army of the undead.” Lancelot says above the soft murmurs of dissent from within the ranks, reminding them of Merlin’s heroism, going after the Cup of Life and toppling off the blood it contained. “He’s also the one who found out the way to defeat the Dorocha, risking his own life to close veil at the Isle of the Blessed.”

“But when a knight gets killed in battle or gets lost during a patrol, do we dispatch the entire knighthood for their sake?” Sir Lamorak retorts. “Why do it for a mere servant?”

Agitation creeps in to Lancelot’s blood and from the looks of Arthur, he’s at the edge of his patience too.

Lancelot’s about to respond but Arthur beats him to it.

“A knight has sworn his life to the kingdom and its ruler. You should all know that the moment you’ve given yourself to knighthood that your life is to be laid down for the love of Camelot.” Arthur declares, so solemnly that all the whispering vanishes and complete silence permeates the still air. “I’m not saying that they are of no import and that their deaths are not grieved in Camelot. As a matter of fact, we honor them with the funeral pyre. We pay respects to the service that they have bravely given for the kingdom. But servants? They are not sworn to die for the crown. They are defenseless against men equipped with swords. He is a citizen, and as such, he should be able to rely on the aide of the knights should peril come to him.”

Like for all the others who’ve heard, it takes Lancelot a few blinking moments to let it all sink in. Arthur’s speech is truly admirable and in that moment, Lancelot cannot begrudge the man of his love for Merlin, if it means that Merlin can get as much help as he can.

“What can we do for you, my lord?” Lamorak concedes. Perhaps he’s felt the earnestness with which Arthur wishes to save the servant. “Where do we begin the search?”

“There is no search necessary.” Arthur says. “Unless the abductor lies of the whereabouts.”

“Who is this abductor?” Lancelot asks. And he has a gut-feeling who, intensified by the fact that he cannot see his suspect in attendance in the hall, the only one missing.

“Sir Kay. He has always been against the institution of common-born men into the knighthood.” Arthur says and with his next words, he looks directly at Lancelot who feels his entire world stop at their implications. “And he believes that in order to drive away these ‘commoners’ from the knighthood, he has to threaten them with the life of the person they love the most.”

“Where’s he taken Merlin?” This time it’s Gwaine who speaks out. “I’m going to kill him.”

“At the cave near the riverside, northwest of Camelot.” Arthur replies.

“But why call for several knights when there’s only one captor?” Elyan asks.

A memory of Sir Kay writing down on a piece of parchment that night of the feast barges to the forefront of Lancelot’s mind. _What’s written in that paper?_

And then it clicks.

“It’s a missive.” He says to himself but loud enough that everyone in assembly hears him regardless. “He’s written a missive, that night of the feast. And my guess is he’ll be having accomplices with him when we get there, most probably mercenaries or men from his father’s estate.”

“Well, no matter how many they are, they are no match against trained knights of Camelot.” Elyan says. “How does he expect to gain anything from this?”

“Nobody said Kay’s the brightest of the bunch, is there?” Gwaine says, cracking up his knuckles, readying himself for a battle. “He’s even left that note in the armory, out in the open for anyone to see. He’s probably not banking on the king seeing it himself.”

Well, with those things said, Lancelot’s inclined to agree. Kay’s all brawns and no brain.

“Now, gentlemen.” Arthur says. “We’ve wasted enough time chatting. Kay has set the ultimatum at nightfall. Ready the horses!”

And the knights spring into action for the sake of its most beloved servant. Squires of several knights bring out their horses and servants run about preparing armor and weapons. Everyone’s on the move and Lancelot’s a little bit overwhelmed at the effect that Merlin has on the people.

Sure there have been doubters earlier, but it cannot be denied that those who love Merlin greatly outnumber those who are indifferent to him.

And with the movement of the people, Lancelot allows himself to get carried away too.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin reveals his choice here!!! <3 :)

**_ARTHUR (VI)_ **

When Arthur’s declared how much Merlin matters to him, he feels liberated, as if he’s now fully recognized the undeniable truth that Merlin is his life. And there is no sense of fear in him. Even if he bares his emotions to his men, he worries not that he has shown weakness, for acknowledging Merlin’s importance is nothing if not a strength. Instead, he feels as if he has just revealed to them his inspiration, the very reason why he has become the kind of man and king he is now.

And as they march on through the thickening forest, Arthur feels a sense of pride in himself for learning how to be true to himself and to his people. He also finds a sense of direction, of what he’ll do once this entire fiasco is behind them.

There’s no doubt in his heart and in his mind that it is time for him to confess what his real intentions for Merlin are. He’ll take him to picnics, write him poetry and even give him flowers if that’s what he wants. And then he’ll ask him to marry him and Merlin shall then be the consort to the king.

But of course, he’s getting ahead of himself. What if Merlin doesn’t love him back? What if it’s truly Lancelot, or maybe Gwaine or some other knight or townsfolk that Merlin takes a fancy on?

He shakes his head. This is not the time for doubts.

With a pull in the reins, he spurs his steed onwards. After all, the sky is turning to dusk now, casting an eerie orange-blue tinge. And with it comes the reminder of the ultimatum Kay has set for Merlin’s life. 

With the last vestiges of their strength and energy, they trot into a stop just behind a thick foliage overlooking the river.

If they have any doubts whether Kay really brought Merlin here, it’s quickly erased when they see approximately twenty swordsmen, half of which, look like mercenaries, and the other half, bearing the crest of Sir Kay’s family. Most of them are by the riverbank, vigilantly watching for incoming adversity while some of them do the same at the mouth of the cave, which lies on the other side of the river from where they are standing.

Merlin’s inside the cave, of that, Arthur is certain. And from the looks of it, there’s no bypassing the mercenaries standing in attention by the riverside.

“We’ll keep the thugs, occupied, my lord.” Leon tells him. “You can go ahead into the cave and save Merlin.”

“I’m going with you.” Lancelot and Gwaine offer at the same time.

Arthur gives a solemn nod to Leon, as if entrusting the welfare of his knights to him. And then he gives the same serious acknowledgment to Lancelot and Gwaine. If there are people he can trust to do their utmost best to save Merlin, he knows they’re Gwaine and Lancelot. Both men have grown so close to Merlin over the years.

Leon returns his solemn nod. And with a shout of “For Merlin and the love of Camelot!” he leads the charge and the onslaught begins.

Arthur, Lancelot and Gwaine observe the proceedings from behind an overgrown bush, waiting for the opportunity to run for the cave.

“Now!” Arthur signals.

They run, halted quite a few times by intruding mercenaries. But in no time at all, they make it to the river. The water is knee deep and the current is mildly strong. But against the stubborn will of three men with a purpose, crossing the river seems like child’s play.

Not even a moment on dry land and they find themselves fighting against more mercenaries. Clearly, they’ve underestimated the number of Kay’s men and with just the three of them on this side of the river, the tide is not in their favor. Still, they are Camelot’s finest. They’ll rather die fighting than to turn back and save themselves. Besides, Merlin needs them.

It is the thought of Merlin that spurs Arthur on. The ride has exhausted him and the constant skirmish strains on his aching muscles. His legs are almost giving up on him but he remains standing, fighting, all for the servant he’s learned to care for.

He focuses on the image of Merlin, alone and afraid in the damp interior of the cave and he clings to the thought of retribution to the man who has caused all this suffering. He will make sure that Kay gets the punishment he deserves.

A cry of anguish jolts Arthur to his surroundings. He turns to see a mercenary cut across Gwaine’s abdomen. Blind anger hits him and he sprints back and stabs Gwaine’s attacker through the heart, before he twists it sickeningly, ensuring his grim demise. When it comes to it, Arthur will always save his friends, and his family, the people that greatly matter to him.

When the body slumps to the ground, Arthur turns and bends down to see to Gwaine’s gaping wound, but the knight only pushes him back with what little energy he has left.

“Arthur, behind you!” Gwaine shouts, his breathing labored.

Arthur turns around just in time to parry the attack of yet another mercenary. But before he can lunge in for the attack, the man spills blood from his mouth as Lancelot stabs him from the back.

A quick look around and there’s no one left to fend off on their side of the river.

“I’ll take care of Gwaine.” Lancelot says. “You go ahead and save Merlin.”

Arthur’s mind tells him that he cannot leave his injured man behind. But his heart, on the other hand, tells him that Merlin takes precedence above everything else. But really, there is no question as to what Arthur will choose to do.

He runs and the darkness of the cave swallows him whole.

**_GWAINE (VI)_ **

To say that Gwaine’s been having a bad few days is an understatement. Gwaine’s having the _worst_ few days of his life. First, Merlin rejects his advances, granted that said advances are ill-advised and are done in a drunken stupor. Second, Merlin’s been avoiding him ever since that night. Third, Merlin gets kidnapped by an idiot of a knight. And the fourth and latest atrocity to have ever happened to him, he’s stabbed in the gut, practically disabling him for coming in to Merlin’s rescue as his knight in shining armor. And he’s bleeding to death. Gods, he’s going to die.

A skirmish is still going on at the other side of the river and there’s no telling when some of the mercenaries think of crossing the river to face an injured knight instead of a dozen abled ones. And the only one standing in the way between his life and certain demise is Lancelot. Not that his presence is going to help. He can already feel himself succumbing to the darkness. Perhaps it is eternal slumber coming to claim him at once.

“Hold on there, mate.” Lancelot’s voice is soft. And Gwaine hates it. It’s pity, sadness and guilt and he doesn’t want that painting any of his friends’ faces. He always makes it a point to crack the odd joke because he wants them to smile and see the brighter side of things.

“Not going anywhere.” He says, smiling through the pain. “Got to sweep Merlin off his feet first. Can’t have you beating me to him.”

He’s rewarded with a small smirk from his companion. “Only you, Gwaine.” Lancelot tells him, shaking his head. “Only you will find a way to crack a joke at a time like this.”

_“Gwaine!!!”_

He hears his name get called out from the other side but it hurts too much to move a single muscle so he fails to lift his head and see who it is. He hears a splash and wonders if it is a mercenary who’ll come to claim his life once and for all, but from what he can see on Lancelot’s expression, the person about to join them is a friend and not a foe.

“Lancelot!” He hears the man call out, and his voice does sound familiar. “What happened? Is he all right?”

“He’s gravely wounded, Percival.” Lancelot says, moving out a bit to give the giant some space beside him. “He’s conscious but I don’t know for how long.”

Percival’s worried face comes into full view and Gwaine badly wants to wipe away that fear and worry off his face. “I’m not dying.” He says, but the blood that comes out from his mouth belies his words.

“Hush. Don’t talk.” Percival says, his expression turning to steel. Gwaine knows this face. It’s Percival’s serious and determined face and once he dons it, no one can stop the big man from doing what he wants.

He sees Percival rip out a huge strip off of his cape which he then uses to wrap around his middle. It hurts like hell and he feels passing out but Percival won’t let him doze off. “Stay with me, Gwaine. Don’t sleep just yet.” Gwaine just grunts helplessly at that. For Percival’s sake, he’ll try. But sleep’s been pounding on the doors of his mind and it’s only a matter of time before he opens it and welcomes rest with wide open arms.

Gwaine finds Lancelot hovering helplessly behind Percival. He’s looking worriedly between Gwaine and the mouth of the cave and Gwaine knows Lancelot wishes to follow Arthur inside.

“Go help Arthur.” He says, making Lancelot start. When the other man’s about to protest he speaks ahead of him saying, “Don’t worry about me. Merlin needs you more than I do.”

He sees Lancelot hesitate before the man seemingly comes into a decision to go forth and follow the king inside the cave.

“You better make sure you’re up on your feet when I get back.” Lancelot tells him.

“Count on it.” Gwaine replies, a strained smile forming on his lips.

“Stop talking.” Percival chides and Gwaine reverts his attention back to him. From the periphery of his vision, he sees Lancelot run in the direction of the cave.

“How come you’re so good at this?” Gwaine asks, trying to keep awake through the conversation.

A few quiet seconds and Gwaine thinks Percival doesn’t want to answer that so he’s surprised when the other man sighs, “I told you to stop talking. It will only tire you out.” Percival chides. “But if you must know, my mother was a healer. I’ve learned a lot from her in the field of medicine.”

Gwaine laughs a little. “Good thing you have. Lest I’ll probably be dead by now.”

“You’re not out of the woods yet.” Percival reminds him. “You’re still losing too much blood and the wound may even get infected if it does not get proper treatment immediately.”

Gwaine looks at Percival seriously for what can only be the first time in a long while. He sees the genuine concern and affection that the other man has for him and his heart makes an entirely pleasant flutter. Percival’s eyes are rimmed with unshed tears and he aches to wipe them off his face. He tries to do just that but Percival’s hand meets his own halfway.

“I won’t die.” Gwaine promises as he brings their hands to Percival’s now wet cheeks. Percival leans his head to their entwined hands, mindless of the tears and sweat and grime that cover his devastated face.

They just stay there, lost in each other’s company as Gwaine’s life drains away. Then they hear Leon call out from the other side that everyone’s already been dealt with.

Percival rises to his feet. “Leon! I need to get Gwaine back to Camelot.” He says with utmost urgency, any sign that he’s been an emotional wreck just moments ago, gone with little trace. “I’ll have to get him back to Camelot immediately lest he will not make it to Gaius in time.”

“By the gods! What happened? Leon asks, alarmed.

“He’s been hit by one of Kay’s men.” Percival informs. “I’ve tried to stem the bleeding but I’m afraid it might not be enough. I have to get him back to Gaius.”

Gwaine’s already finally reaching unconsciousness and with Percival distracted, no one’s going to keep his eyes glued open.

And the last thing he hears before he embraces dark slumber is Percival saying, “I cannot let him die, Leon. He’s… I care for him too much and I’m willing to do anything just to see him alive and healthy once more.”

The sweet welcoming embrace of darkness engulfs the recesses of Gwaine’s mind.

**_LANCELOT (VII)_ **

Lancelot’s hasn’t stayed in Camelot long enough to know much about the geography of its lands. Besides, in his short residence in the kingdom, he’s always been holed up in the castle. Never has he had the time to wander around nearby forests, much less, nearby caves.

That’s why he can’t stop the groan from escaping him when the cave splits into two different directions, with him none the wiser of which path to take. He tries to squint through the darkness of both, but his vision can only go so far. It’s all pitch black, putting him at a disadvantage with whoever is out there who knows the cave better than he does.

He stoops down and tries to identify foot tracks but it’s a solid floor and it’s impossible to leave indentations on it while you walk. Not even the scattering of the small pebbles can indicate which one’s been recently traveled on. Perfect.

He growls in frustration. Each moment he wastes deciding on which path to take is a moment he’s leaving Merlin’s life to the hands of Sir Kay. The time’s gone beyond his ultimatum and Lancelot worries that Kay will stick to his word and kill Merlin. His only hope for the contrary is that Kay cannot exactly determine the time of day inside this pitch darkness.

He begins to pace. Arthur’s gone through one of these two directions. But is he in the right one? Arthur probably won’t know himself. There’s just not any way of telling unless you venture to take one and reach its end!

He kicks some pebbles away, tired and desperate. And that’s how he hears it. The telltale clinking of a small metallic object. At first he thinks, someone’s coming but the sound is too soft to be that of a sword or chainmail and it’s coming from near the ground. He kneels down to locate the source of the sound, mixing through the pebbles and stones. The moment he sees it, he freezes.

It’s Arthur’s ring. And it’s here in front of the right side path. Arthur’s gone this way and he’s probably hoping that if anyone follows him, will notice the ring and choose the other path to cover up everything and leave nothing to chance for Merlin’s safe rescue.

He pockets the ring and takes the left fork, praying to the gods that will listen to him that Merlin’s safe somewhere within this cave.

Despite his wish to run, or at the very least walk faster, he slows his pace. There’s nothing but darkness around him and the little that he does see are nothing but cave walls. If he wants to get to the end, then he must be careful. There may be pitfalls or manmade traps lying ahead of him and he is none the wiser.

It feels like ages though, and about a half hour of cautious movement, he abandons stealth for speed, spurred on by the idea of Merlin suffering because of his hesitance.

And then he sees it. A burning orange light from the distance. And he hears it too. It’s the sound water dripping from the cave ceiling to a little spring. And besides that, he hears voices. One he does not recognize and another, familiar and beloved, seemingly gagged.

_Merlin._

He slows his walk and stops just short of entering the wide area to take stock of what he’s facing. At the far end, Merlin sits on the damp cave floor. He’s definitely gagged. He has bruises all over his face and judging by the way he is pressing his bound hands to his chest, he’s also injured in either hand.

Lancelot tries to stem out the anger that sparks within him at the sight of Merlin maltreated and abused. He has to have complete reign of his wits if he wants to get Merlin out of here. He shakes his head to try and gain some semblance of rationality. He tries to look away from Merlin and study the rest of the place.

Just as he thought, there’s a tiny spring to his left which must be connected to the river in some way or another. And on the other side, there’s a gaping hole about five feet off the ground which makes Lancelot wonder whether it leads to anywhere. He turns his gaze back to the center.

There’s a man sitting on a wooden chair next to Merlin’s side. There’s an odd, out-of-place bell lying precariously on the armrest but the said man seems like he hasn’t noticed. Well, he’s rather busy reading some book with the torchlight by the cave wall giving him enough light to do so. His hair is graying and there’s a bald spot near the top of his head. From where Lancelot’s standing, he looks a lot like Kay but the evident difference in age makes Lancelot certain that is in fact, not Kay. It’s Kay’s father, the retired Sir Galahad.

He glances around a little more and finds that there’s no one else in here except for the three of them. He comes out of hiding and steels himself for an impending duel against the man. Between an old man and a man in his prime, it’s somewhat a given as to who will win in a fight, Lancelot thinks.

“Sir Galahad, I believe you’re holding an innocent man of Camelot prisoner.” Lancelot states, introducing his presence to the man addressed. “For that, you shall be tried in Camelot, though personally, I think no trial is needed for a criminal caught red-handed.”

He hears Merlin’s muffled voice call out to his name and Lancelot turns to him. He’s gesticulating wildly despite his tied hands and his eyes are wide, as if trying to give off a warning to Lancelot. But Lancelot’ misunderstands and he thinks that Merlin’s denying his help and is asking him to just turn around and leave him be.

Lancelot shakes his head. He won’t just leave Merlin in the hands of this filthy animal.

“Merlin, I promise you I’ll keep you safe.” Lancelot assures the seemingly panicked servant. “Don’t try to be self-sacrificing this time, Merlin. I love you too much and I won’t forgive myself if I let something happen to you if I can stop it.” 

He hasn’t meant to confess it now but the exhaustion and the fear of almost losing him forces him to admit to it.

“How amusing! How romantic! Who knew low-bred animals know the concept of love and sacrifice?” Galahad speaks mock-sweetly. Then his face contorts to disgust. “But alas. It’s an abomination. A man bedding another man? Such acts have no place in the ranks of the knights!”

“So hatred for us ‘commoners’ does run in the family.” Lancelot says. He wishes he can run to Merlin’s side and defend him from Galahad but the said man is studying his every move keenly. He also ignores the last snide and he wonders how the man will react if he finds out that his very king also favors a man over any women.

“I despise anyone who thinks that they belong in the knighthood when clearly they should never be!” Sir Galahad spits. “And that includes everyone who has not an iota of noble blood in their veins. The first rule of the Knights’ Code says so.”

“You’ll find that the king disagrees with that.” Lancelot takes a step forward, his sword ready in his right hand. Galahad, on the other hand, bears no weapon. It’s something that Lancelot should have noticed already but he is too busy flitting glances to Merlin who is flailing around helplessly, still trying to persuade Lancelot to leave him be, to fully take stock of his opponent.

“The king is young and naïve.” Galahad finally stands up and throws his book down on the chair he has vacated. “But that will soon change the moment he realizes that your kind is not to be trusted.”

“And how do you suppose the king will change his perception of us?” Lancelot says. He’s got the upper hand. Galahad’s old and weaponless. Lancelot can take some time to get answers to understand their motive.

“When I’m done with you and your band of knights who I assume are fighting against my men outside, I will kill this good-for-nothing servant to the king.” Galahad says, glaring at the direction of Merlin. “And then Kay will go back to Camelot, claim that he’s witnessed you abducting the servant to satisfy your carnal pleasures and that he’s followed you and killed you all in an attempt to save the servant. It’s just unfortunate that he’s long died before my son can get to him.”

Galahad seems to be preening at the supposed brilliance of his plan.

“Ah, what an interesting tale to tell the king, indeed.” Lancelot says, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. He will love to see the reaction of Galahad on what he’s about to say. “But you see, there’s one little problem to your plot. Arthur already knows. He’s the one who saw Kay’s note in the armory. And he’s here with us to take back Merlin.”

And just as he thought, Galahad’s mouth is gaping wide open like a fish, his eyes moving from Lancelot to some point behind him. “Note?” He manages to blurt out.

“Yes. Your son didn’t think things through enough that he just left the note where anyone can find it.” Lancelot says, closing in on the old man. “Just his luck that Arthur was the person to find the proof of his crime. And even if someone else did find it, they’ll just have to show it to him to make him believe so.”

They’re now standing so near each other and only Lancelot’s sword aimed at Galahad’s throat gives them distance. Galahad’s eyes turn back to him and he glare at Lancelot with venomous eyes and for a split second, he looks behind Lancelot once again and too late does Lancelot realize that someone’s been behind him all this time.

“Doesn’t matter if my son’s an idiot.” Galahad spits. “He’s always been better than you. It’s already proven by his noble birth. Hit him, Kay.”

It’s far too quick for Lancelot to step aside and avoid the attack. The feel of the hilt hitting the back of his head isn’t pleasant and he quickly succumbs to the darkness of unconsciousness.

**_ARTHUR (VII)_ **

Arthur’s never been more afraid than in this moment. No, he’s not afraid for himself, but for Merlin’s sake, for Gwaine’s and for his men outside the oppressive confines of this cave. All of them have their lives on the line, or perhaps have already died and all but Arthur’s still enveloped in the darkness of the cave, taking strides as long and sure as he can. But there seems to be no end.

Not for the first time, he doubts his decision to take the right side path. He’s been in Camelot ever since the day he is born and he’s explored this part of the land in his childhood but he does not recall it ever having a path diverged within the cave. It is for this reason that he’s decided to take the unfamiliar right path, that Kay has taken Merlin there because he knows it’s unexplored grounds.

He hopes that one of his knights will follow him, and hopefully he’ll also notice the tiny ring that Arthur’s placed at the fork and proceeds to assume that Arthur wants him to cover the other route while he gambles on choosing this side of the tunnel.

He stops when the monotony of stone walls and pebbled floors becomes littered with tiny twigs and sticks that crack at the pressure of Arthur’s foot. He tries to stir his mind as to why this seems so familiar, as if he’s read it somewhere or has heard of it from someone before. His eyes try to rake in everything. After all, Kay may have left Merlin here underneath all this rubble of a nest.

_Nest._

It is a nest.

And in it, lies a creature that Arthur’s never thought of seeing anywhere near Camelot.

The wilddeoren snores.

Arthur looks around him, assessing the situation. His first instinct is turn back as quietly as possible and try the other path, but upon closer inspection, this wilddeoren’s den isn’t a dead end. To his left is a huge opening and suddenly he realizes why the cave’s interior has been altered greatly. The wilddeoren’s been digging in it and has found refuge in it.

He tiptoes as stealthily as he can, his neck twisted to the side, allowing him to see both the path ahead of him and the sleeping wilddeoren behind him through his peripheral vision. He ventures for ten more steps before he’s satisfied with the distance between him and the beast. He’s about to turn around completely when he hears the tell-tale ringing of a hand-held bell.

He freezes and watches in utter horror as the wilddeoren lifts its head slowly, nose upturned, as if it’s sensing the presence of a prospected meal. It turns to look in the general direction of where Arthur is and Arthur holds his breath.

_Must not make a sound._

The bell rings again.

It lunges itself at him. And Arthur runs.

It’s closing in on him and Arthur’s bone-tired with everything that’s happened thus far but he refuses to just give in and be the meal for some huge blind rat creature. He keeps on running and once or twice he debates whether he can face it head on but he’s never been good at fighting in utter darkness. And it leaves him with no choice but to run.

A speck of orange light begins to grow from a distance and Arthur thanks the heavens for small mercies. At least with ample light, he can combat the wilddeoren.

It is a matter of a second when he realizes that the opening is quite a few feet above the ground and he barely manages himself to stop and side-step so that the wilddeoren won’t charge at him to certain death. The raging beast gets past him and it falls to the ground with a loud thud, but far from dead or even wounded.

Arthur watches the wilddeoren for a while, having an internal debate whether he should let it be or kill it. It’s possible that it can somehow find its way to Camelot.

His indecision, though, is short-lived. He hears a soft whimper on one corner of the cavernous area below and his blood runs cold at the sight of Merlin there, bruised and beaten and with a limp Lancelot beside him. He’s crying.

The wilddeoren sniffs its way to the pair and Arthur leaps. “Here you stupid rat!” He yells, effectively catching the attention of the beast. He wastes no time and lunges his sword through its mouth just as it charges toward him instead, mouth wide open, as if aiming to chomp his head off. His blade connects with the beast but a fang also grazes at his arm and he instantly feels the warmth of the blood that gushes out from the tear.

The creature thankfully slumps down, dead. And Arthur wastes no time in rushing to Merlin’s side.

“Are you okay, Merlin?” Arthur inquires as he cups Merlin’s face in his hands, studying the massive bruise forming on the servant’s right cheek and the split on his lip. “Where’s Kay?” He adds. His hatred for the man is no longer just a dormant ember. It’s a blazing flame.

Merlin, with Lancelot unconscious by his side, is obviously frightened and it takes him a few moments before he realizes that he’s been asked questions. “Not really fine, I’m sorry.” His voice is rough. “Kay’s with his father, Galahad. They’ve escaped the moment they called for the wilddeoren with the bell.” Somehow, that doesn’t surprise Arthur at all.

“They were really planning to kill you.” Arthur’s expression is unreadable. “Those bastards! They’ll pay for this! Merlin, I promise you, I’ll hunt them down and I will mete out the worst possible punishment. No one has the right to cause suffering to their fellow citizen of Camelot. Not if that citizen is as good and kind-hearted as you. Only bastards like Kay can stomach this kind of –”

A short stab of pain flashes on his right forearm where Merlin’s touched him.

“You’re wounded.” Merlin notes, studying the gash in question with intensity.

“It’s just a small scratch, Merlin. Nothing to worry – what are you doing?”

Merlin’s untying the neckerchief he is wearing and Arthur feels his ire rise once more as he sees the usually pale and beautiful neck decorated with bruises. He’s about to comment on it too but he gets distracted when Merlin proceeds to wordlessly tie the neckerchief over the wound.

“We have to stem the bleeding.” Merlin says, his expression serious and worried, but it has a softness that Arthur realizes Merlin only shows for him. “I wouldn’t want my knight in shining armor die in his rescue attempt.”

Arthur can’t help smiling at that. “Are you calling yourself a damsel now, Merlin?” He jokes.

And Merlin laughs, and Arthur’s glad that he’s no longer crying. “Trust you to ruin the moment, you prat.” Merlin says. But there’s no heat in the words and his eyes are glinting with fondness and gratitude, and Arthur dares think it, love.

“Can I rectify that then?” The king asks. His voice is thick and he’s pretty sure his desire is evident in his tone and in his eyes.

Merlin tilts his head to the side, feigning ignorance but Arthur sees it. There’s the same desire in Merlin’s eyes. Merlin wants him as much as he loves him. Of course, it can just be relief or hero-worship on Merlin’s part but Arthur’s tired of not taking his chance when it comes to Merlin.

Arthur takes the plunge. He closes the space between them and kisses Merlin hungrily on the lips. It’s a sloppy kind of kiss at first, and a little bit uncomfortable. Merlin, after all, has a split upper lip and Arthur’s all too aware of it so he takes it easy. But it is Merlin who becomes insistent, and soon he’s pushing his tongue into Arthur’s mouth, taking Arthur by surprise. And then it’s just like the heaven Arthur has always imagined kissing Merlin to be. It is pure bliss, real and raw, and nothing else matters, only Merlin and his sinful mouth and tongue.

They never find out how long they’ve held the kiss, only that they break apart when they hear Lancelot groan loudly at their side.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Sorry for the delay. I was having Internet problems yesterday, but it's all good now!
> 
> I surely enjoyed writing this massive fic and I hope you guys enjoyed the journey of Merlin and our three gentlemen with me. <3
> 
> I love you all so much! Thank you for all the comments and kudoses!

**_GWAINE (VII)_ **

When Gwaine wakes, he finds himself on a strangely familiar bed in a vaguely familiar room. But his boggled mind makes it difficult for him to fully take stock of his situation.

He ventures to sit up, hoping that a new perspective on his surroundings will jog his mind but he stops as the searing pain in his gut makes itself known, as if his innards have been churned and twisted mercilessly. He barely stifles a gasp.

A warm hand pushes him back down to the bed before he can protest. He tries to fight it, but his injuries make him too weak to put up a fight, and the hand that’s forcing him down is much too strong for him to contradict.

“Gaius says you have to rest for a fortnight.” It is Percival that’s sitting beside him and it speaks volumes of how out of sorts he is that he hasn’t realized he’s not alone until his company speaks out to him. “It’s for your own good that you don’t stand up all too soon.”

“What happened?” Gwaine asks, his voice a little rough from disuse.

“An enemy landed a sword on your stomach, don’t you remember?” Percival asks him worriedly before standing up to fill a cup of water for Gwaine’s parched throat. “And then you passed out because of the amount of blood you’ve lost. Here, drink this.”

Gwaine does as he is told. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Percival answers, still busying himself with things here and there on a table beside the bed. _Merlin’s bed._

At the thought of the servant, Gwaine shoots up as if his injuries are a thing of the past. Or at the very least, he’s able to tolerate the pain with the panic and worry that’s immediately laced his heart. “And Merlin? Is he?”

“He’s all right.” Percival says somewhat tersely. “Honestly Gwaine, you’re injured and all you can think of is somebody else.”

As if sensing that there’s no need for invincibility after all, what with Merlin already safe and sound, Gwaine’s gut begins to churn pain anew. He grunts as he leans himself back to bed. “But I already know I’m fine. I wasn’t sure of Merlin.”

“Fine?” Percival asks him, incredulous. “You almost died, Gwaine! In what world or universe is that fine? You had me worried!” He slams the table, upturning several vials containing what can possibly be potions for Gwaine’s recovery.

It’s a shock, how a gentle man such as Percival can shout like that. It’s a vicious roar and Gwaine is completely startled and speechless. Gwaine can see the moment Percival’s realized what he’s just done and before he can stop the other man from apologizing profusely, the giant has already started.

“Gwaine, I’m sorry.” Percival says. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you. You’re still recuperating from your wound. I shouldn’t have stressed you out. I- I think I should go for now.” Percival turns around in a hurry but he hesitates by the door. “I- I’ll be back later with your dinner.” And with that, he takes his leave.

All the while, Gwaine just lies there, mouth agape, surprised. He’s reeling from all the implications of what Percival has just told him. _Percival’s worried about him._ Does that mean what Gwaine thinks it means? Is Percival attracted to him? Or is it just a simple case of brotherly concern? Gwaine isn’t entirely sure, but a pleasant warmth settles in his stomach, and it’s eased the pain of his wound somehow.

But he can’t be with Percival. Not as long as he’s in love with Merlin.

He’s lost in thoughts of both Merlin and Percival when there is a knock on the door before it’s opened from the other side by Gaius.

“Percival tells me you’ve come to join us in the land of the living.” The old man says lightly. “How are you feeling?”

“It still hurts like hell.” Gwaine answers. “But I’ll live.”

“That’s all thanks to Sir Percival.” Gaius retorts, and Gwaine startles at the implicating tone. “A few minutes later than the time he got you here, you’d have already died. But no. The man was adamant. If you could stand right now, you’d see the damage his panic has caused to my poor old door.”

“But I can’t, so I’m stuck here in Merlin’s bed.” Gwaine notes. “Why am I on his bed? Where is he? Is he really all right?” No that he doesn’t trust Percival’s answer, but surely Merlin has to have incurred some injuries from his capture right?

“He’s healing too.” Gaius replies. “But unlike you, his wounds are superficial and requires no constant supervision. That’s why he’s opted to stay at the antechambers to Arthur’s rooms for the time being so that you can stay here and I can focus on treating you.”

Gwaine looks away. _He’s always Arthur’s man, through and through._

“And what of Sir Kay?” Gwaine asks in lieu of changing the topic. He’s glad when Gaius just goes along with it without any probing.

“He and his father’s trial is due tomorrow at noon.” Gaius says. _They’re arrested then. That’s good._

“It figures.” Gwaine replies. “Why am I not surprised that that old man is involved in all this?”

“For the record, no one is.” Gaius putters about the table. “He’s always been known to abhor the commoners’ blood.”

“Well, I hope he gets what he deserves.” Gwaine mutters. “But can I go? To the trial?”

“We’ll see. But for now, take some rest.”

And Gwaine does rest, although his mind is littered with thoughts of Merlin, Percival and the impending doom for Sirs Kay and Galahad.

When dinner time comes, Gwaine is still none the wiser as to what he’ll say to Percival. He’s had so much to think about and he feels completely overwhelmed by all of it, and so, instead of attempting to be logical about everything, he decides to just groan and let things happen as they happen.

Percival comes in, two dinner plates in hand. One’s a deep bowl of what can only be soup while the other seems to be holding an assortment of meats and fruits and cheese.

“Hey Gwaine, here’s dinner.” Percival puts down the meat-laden plate on the table before sitting on the bed beside Gwaine’s head. “It’s soup from the kitchens. Gaius says you can’t take foods that would be too heavy for your stomach.”

Gwaine groans. It isn’t that the soup is not nice. But just imagining how long it’s going to be with him eating soft foods only before he can fully recover is a deplorable thought. Not to mention all the alcohol that he’s no doubt forbidden to take in too. Gwaine’s going to have some miserable days ahead of him.

Well, it’s not as if the past week has been entirely amazing, either.

He lets Percival manhandle him carefully into a sitting position before the other man feeds him the gruel, his own dinner of meats forgotten momentarily, and for the first time in a long while, he imagines what it is like to be with someone that isn’t Merlin.

**_LANCELOT (VIII)_ **

“– wouldn’t want my knight in shining armor die in his rescue attempt.” Lancelot hears Merlin say as he begins to regain consciousness from the hit he has obtained from a hit on the back of the head. He wants to say to Merlin that there’s no need to worry about him dying anytime soon and that really, it’s just a mild hit to the head, nothing at all fatal, but he’s not yet fully there, not conscious enough to talk.

“Are you calling yourself a damsel now, Merlin?” He hears another voice. And the warmth that’s been starting to strengthen him vanishes and is replaced by cold, dreadful resignation.

_Of course, there’s Arthur._

He hears Merlin laugh. “Trust you to ruin the moment, you prat.” He hears the admiration, the adoration and yes, the love in Merlin’s voice and he realizes that there is no real competition between him and Arthur. Not even Gwaine has a chance against this. The three of them may love the same man, but that man only has his heart for one of them. And it’s not his. And it’s not Gwaine’s. It’s Arthur’s. Always been and always will be.

“Can I rectify that then?” He hears Arthur say suggestively.

He knows what’s about to happen. If he still wants a chance with Merlin, he has to get up now so that any real connection can be preempted between them. But will he really stand in the way of Merlin’s happiness?

His heart shatters and he doesn’t know if it will ever be mended. He hears them, hears their passion, their love, their devotion. And he just lies there, pretending to be unconscious, but letting away the tears to flow freely down his face.

When he’s collected himself enough, he decides that it’s time to make his presence known. He opens his eyes too quickly and he sees them locked in the lips, just before they break apart. A vision of what he wants with Merlin but will never have. He averts his eyes.

Merlin hugs him then, glad that he’s not sustained any major injuries and he takes whatever comfort he can get from that. Behind Merlin, he sees Arthur smiling. The man doesn’t look jealous at all, the way he seemed to have been at the tournament. He looks like a content man, safe and secure with the love of his life.

When Merlin removes himself from their deep embrace, Lancelot takes notice of the missing garment from Merlin’s neck. He’s never had the chance to return the neckerchief Merlin’s given him before but he knows the servant has a stock of them in his chambers and he’s pretty certain Merlin’s supposed to be wearing one. Has it been lost during the kidnapping?

His eyes catch on to the flash of red on Arthur’s arm.

He laughs. He honest to goodness laughs at the irony of it all. It’s like everything’s come full circle, and it’s this, more than anything else, that breaks whatever remaining piece of broken heart he has. For there, in Arthur’s forearm, is Merlin’s red scarf but he has a feeling it holds a meaning different from the one he himself has gotten before.

They walk out the cave in silence, Arthur and Merlin side by side while he stays a respectable distance behind them.

The men waiting outside the cave have handily beaten the rest of the mercenaries and Percival’s done a great job with tying up Kay and Galahad together when they have confidently strut out the cave, basking in their supposed success. 

“My lord. Lancelot. Merlin.” Percival greets the three of them. “How do you wish we dispose of these despicable men?”

“You have no right to call me that, commoner!” For a captive, Sir Galahad’s a feisty one.

“So what if they are commoners, Sir Galahad?” Arthur says, pulling Merlin closer to his side. “For all that their circumstance of birth is different from yours, they still end up having far more honor than you can possibly hope to possess.”

Chastised, the two men can only glare at the knights, and even at Arthur and Merlin.

“When we get back to Camelot, the two of you shall be tried for assaulting a member of the royal household.” Arthur says, turning to look at Merlin with soft, caring eyes. Then he glares back at the two once more. “But such trial is only ceremony, I’ve already judged you guilty as evidenced by your involvement in Merlin’s kidnapping. And for that, you shall be hung in the castle courtyard in front of the people of Camelot. Let them be privy to the extent of your dishonor.”

The words of a king are final and so that marks the end of that. They go back to Camelot early the next morning. Lancelot spends the entire ride in lonely silence.

When they arrive in the citadel, he sees Percival dismount first, carrying a bleeding Gwaine bridal-style, presumably to Gaius’ infirmary. He watches the giant as he makes his way amongst the throng of curious on-lookers, citizens and servants and nobles alike who wish to know how the king’s short expedition has gone.

And amongst them, he sees Guinevere. She’s not looking at him but at the pair that’s a few feet away from him, at Arthur and Merlin, who have shared the same horse. The king has insisted so, reasoning that he has to make sure that Merlin is all right and well.

He looks at the two of them, and not for the first time, he thinks of himself in Arthur’s place. What is it like to be unconditionally loved in return?

_No use thinking about that now._

He shakes his head and wills himself to look away, catching Guinevere’s hazel eyes this time. She’s staring at him worriedly and there’s a spark in her eyes, as if she’s realized that Merlin’s chosen someone else instead of him.

She mouths a few words and Lancelot catches something along the lines of, “Are you all right?” He nods. She doesn’t seem convinced but she lets it go. Lancelot knows that it will not be the end of it, though. She will eventually ask him all about it and he will have to tell her everything. He tries to reassure her further as he give her a soft smile but it feels more like a grimace.

He is not fooling anyone. He is hurting and he will be the fool if he himself believes that everything will be just fine. He dismounts his own horse, hands over the reins to a stable boy before volunteering to take the prisoners to the dungeons.

“I’d rather die than be pulled around by you!” Kay screams.

“Don’t worry Sir Kay, you’ll get your wish soon enough.” Says a stony faced Lamorak. “Seriously? Raising a wilddeoren in a cave just north of Camelot? What on earth were you thinking?”

“It was a tame pet!” Kay answers, livid. “Father’s given it to me. He says, if tamed properly, it could learn how to protect Camelot too!”

“And having it kill a harmless servant?” Arthur interjects. “Is that your idea of protecting Camelot and its people?”

“But sire!” Sir Galahad says, storm in his eyes. “Surely sacrificing the life of one man for the better good is a worthy sacrifice to make! The servant should have been grateful he’s played an important role in saving Camelot from ruin because of these wretched commoners!”

“You’re thinking too highly of yourselves, Sirs Kay and Galahad.” Arthur says. “But I’m also afraid that you are wrong. Each person in this kingdom is important to me. No citizen of Camelot shall be harmed by their fellowmen and you have done such a thing. So in the eye of Camelot law, the two of you are punishable, the degree of which, I have yet to discuss.”

“But sire, don’t you think that you’re being rash?” Sir Galahad says. “Will you really punish us for doing only what we think is for the betterment of Camelot?” And then nodding to Lancelot’s direction he pushes on, “And this commoner, sire has explicitly confessed his love for your manservant! He’s an abomination of the land!”

Lancelot knows that’s the wrong thing to say. He sees the way Arthur’s face contorts and the way he reels back his fist before releasing it and punching the old knight right smack in the face.

“A man is free to love who he wishes to love.” Arthur says tersely. “Lancelot, take them to their cells.” And Lancelot’s only too happy to agree.

The pair is a picture of stunned silence as they walk through the halls leading to the dungeons. They even make no fuss when Lancelot locks them in and there’s little to no resistance at all.

When he surfaces from the dungeons, he’s met by Guinevere’s hug. Surprised but still thankfully in his wits, he returns the hug and they stay like that for a few good minutes.

When they break apart, they simply stare at each other, basking in the presence of the other.

“I still love you.” Guinevere says. “I know Merlin’s still a fresh memory for you and it probably still hurts, heck I mean, even my own heart hasn’t completely healed when you rejected me. I just want to let you know that my love for you won’t change and I’m willing to wait, no matter how long.”

Lancelot’s reeling. He doesn’t know what to make out of her words. And the only thing he can think of saying is, “G-Guinevere! You curse?”

“What? No. I mean, probably a little?” Guinevere admits, blushing. “But really, Lancelot. Think of what I said. I can wait. And I will wait. ”

He cannot stop it. He laughs and, and she blushes a tinge deeper. They stare at each for a little longer and Lancelot tries so hard to see her in the sense of a lover but he just can’t seem to make it.

“All right.” Lancelot agrees. “Let’s give it a chance, maybe. But I’d have to start that with a clean slate. I need to get over the ache of my heart first, will that be all right?”

Guinevere sighs fondly at him. “It’s not ideal, but I’ll take whatever I can get.” She answers. “I love you too much, you know.”

Maybe it’s possible to fall in love with Guinevere after all.

**_ARTHUR (VIII)_ **

Arthur grunts as he releases for the fourth time in one night. He knows he exudes virility but even he has been surprised with how many rounds he can last. Surely, it’s the fact that it’s Merlin he’s doing it with that brings out the lust in him.

“You can get off of me now, prat.” Merlin struggles to say beneath him. “Really, you’re too heavy. I’ll die of asphyxiation.”

“That’s a big word – hey!” Arthur retorts. “Did you just call me fat?”

“No I called you heavy.” Merlin says. “But really, get off.”

Arthur pulls out, his prick oversensitive with all the action it has had for the past few hours. He falls to one side of the bed, the side he doesn’t usually take, but Merlin insists on taking his preferred side and he has to relent. Really, Arthur has to learn when and how to say no to Merlin’s whims.

“Gods, I love you.” Merlin says. He has said it quite a lot of times since earlier in the day, since they have shared their first kiss in the cave. But it’s still so extremely new and exciting that Arthur’s entire being soars at how honestly Merlin’s said those words.

He rearranges them so that Merlin’s head is resting on his chest and the other man’s arm and leg are wrapped around his torso. “I love you too.”

They kiss and this, Arthur thinks, is something he’ll never get tired of. Merlin’s tongue is languid and enticing. His lips are luscious and delectable and Arthur just cannot get enough. Their tongues stay glued together for the next few minutes and before they know it, they are growing hard again and Merlin readily spreads himself open to get them going for their fifth round. After which, they find themselves back in their previous position, with Merlin’s head on Arthur’s chest.

They spend a few moments just talking about inane things, well and truly tired to even fathom a sixth time. And when dusk is almost upon them, they quiet down and Arthur, sleepy as he is, notices the sad, worried look on his lover’s face.

“Merlin?” Arthur asks, getting a quiet questioning hum in response. “Is there something the matter?”

Merlin looks up to Arthur’s face before closing his eyes, just absorbing the feeling of Arthur’s fingers as they card through his soft dark locks.

“What will happen to Kay and Galahad?”

“They’ll get their ceremonial trial tomorrow.” Arthur answers. “Though if you ask me, it is set in stone that they are to die by hanging for the graveness of their offence.” He explains, hoping that this resolution will wipe out Merlin’s sadness.

But Merlin squirms beneath him and Arthur sees the discomfort.

“Unless you have another punishment in mind?” Arthur probes.

“I don’t want anyone to die for my sake, Arthur.” Merlin says and he buries his head in Arthur’s chest and the king feels a dampness there that’s most decidedly not sweat. “Would it be possible if you just banish them from Camelot? Let them live in their home estate? Never to leave?” Merlin asks so meekly as if he’s ashamed that his heart is too big to allow his tormentors to be killed.

Arthur runs the possibility to his mind. If left to their own devices, Kay and Galahad can amass an army to attack Camelot for vengeance. They can get in league with Morgana and plot about the downfall of his kingdom. But surely that won’t happen if they’re supervised by someone that Arthur trusts? One of his most loyal knights, perhaps?

“That could work…” Arthur says. Merlin smiles greatly at him and any sense of apprehension with this suggestion goes out of the window. If it makes Merlin happier, then so be it. “But we’ll have to strip them off of their titles. That way, we can prevent them from having enough power to gather an army against us.”

“That’s probably for the best.” Merlin agrees.

“And someone has to watch over them too.” Arthur adds. “Lest they think of joining Morgana’s ranks.”

“But who?”

“Someone from the knights, perhaps.” Arthur mulls it over. He’s thinking of Percival. The man’s the one who is able to subdue both father and son when they are trying to recover Merlin from the kidnapping. But he’s yet to weigh his other options. It doesn’t matter that much at the moment though, since he has until the next day to decide.

Merlin hums his assent.

“Do you think Gwen will ever talk to me again?” Merlin asks, non-sequitur. Apparently, he’s done with the previous conversation and is ready for this new and harder one.

“As I said before, Merlin.” Arthur answers. “Give her time.”

“But it’s just so lonely not being able to talk to her.” Merlin pouts and Arthur stares at the luscious redness of it.

“She’s recovering from heartbreak, Merlin.” Arthur tells his lover. “But it’s not your fault Lancelot’s fallen in love with you than with her. In fact, no one should fault you for being so likeable!”

“Still…” Merlin says and Arthur groans internally and he’s regretting bringing up Lancelot’s affections. “Now you remind me that I have to turn down two of your best knights.”

It takes a while for Merlin’s words to sink in but the moment they do, Arthur jolts up, dislodging Merlin from his comfortable place on his chest, causing the poor bloke to squeak an unmanly squeak. “What?” He asks, enraged. “Who is this other knight?”

Merlin has the gall to look sheepish. “Er, Gwaine?” He says. “But really, it’s harmless! He just tried to kiss me when he was drunk. But he never did coerce me into bed with him!” He slams a fist to his open mouth.

“HE DID WHAT?” Arthur’s now spluttering and his face is red with jealousy. “THAT SON OF A -!”

Whether Gwaine is the son of a what, we will never know. Merlin preempts whatever it is that Arthur’s about to say with a resounding kiss on the lips. They share it passionately for quite a while, Merlin only breaking it apart when he deems Arthur cool enough to talk to.

“Nothing happened.” Merlin says. “Really, I promise.”

Arthur’s about to argue further. He wants to throttle Gwaine’s neck but the bloke’s been through enough hell already that he reluctantly decides to let whatever incident it is between Gwaine and Merlin pass. Besides, Merlin’s already chosen him. What more can he ask for? “Promise?” He asks instead.

“Promise.”

**_GWAINE (VIII)_ **

It is a struggle, but with the help of Percival, Gwaine arrives into the throne room just in time to witness the trial of Sirs Kay and Galahad.

He looks around him, taking stock of who is and isn’t there. But it seems to be a moot point in the end, since everyone of importance is apparently there. To the side, there’s Lancelot standing beside a rather radiant Guinevere. Beside them, he sees the other knights, Leon, Elyan, Lamorak and Caradoc. On the dais, of course, is the princess himself and right behind him is Merlin, the supposed love of his life.

He takes a short moment to study the face of the man he believes he has loved. He’s still as pretty and charming as ever, but something’s changed. He no longer feels as if his heart is about to soar. Instead, it feels as if something inside him has been lost, bereft of something wonderful and insane. For in that moment, just looking at Merlin, he knows that he’s beyond happy right beside his king, his Arthur.

He looks away and his eyes land on the two men kneeling in front of the king. These are the two men who have brought Merlin to harm and though his feelings for the man have been unrequited, Merlin’s still his friend first and foremost, and whoever hurts his friends deserves to be severely punished.

“For bringing harm to one of the people of Camelot, and for endangering the lives of every citizen by caring for a wilddeoren close the Camelot’s capital, the two of you deserve to die by way of hanging.” Arthur says, his stand exuding regality and leadership. “But with magnanimity known only to a few men, my manservant, Merlin has expressed his wish to spare both of your lives.”

Gwaine cannot believe that they’re letting the two men go that easily, and judging by the murmurs all around him, the others cannot believe it either.

“It does not, however, mean that the two of you are free to go.” Arthur continues, mindless of the dissent his earlier statements have caused. “You shall be banished from Camelot and you shall remain a prisoner in the small parcel of land my father has granted your family many years ago. You shall also be stripped off your knighthood and instead, you shall live by toiling the lands as the village folk do.”

“To ensure that you will not assemble any army, or go in league with the witch Morgana, one of my most trusted knights shall guard your every move, if he does willingly take this task.” At this, Arthur looks in Gwaine’s direction. At first he thinks Arthur’s going to choose him but he quickly realizes that the king’s addressing Percival. “So if Sir Percival would be as kind as to take this job, will he please step forward?”

Gwaine looks at the man beside him and sees the other man looking back at him. They stare at each other for a long while, communicating, understanding each other through their eyes in the absence of words.

“I’m going with him.” Gwaine says as he slots his hand to Percival’s. Arthur turns to him, surprised before his blue eyes became assessing. Then Arthur turns to Percival who gives him a firm nod in answer.

“It is settled then.” Arthur says. “Tomorrow at dawn, Gwaine and Percival shall accompany both Kay and Galahad, no longer knights of Camelot, back to their estate in the far north. They shall remain there for the remainder of their days. Should they defy this decree, then they shall be dealt with accordingly. Immediate death can only be the right punishment for such insolence.”

There’s a polite round of applause from the people present.

Gwaine lets the other people leave first. In his injured state, he has yet to regain his strength and right now, he has none of it to push against other people for the exit. Percival steadies him from time to time.

“Gwaine!” He hears Merlin call him.

He turns around, and true enough, Merlin’s there, looking flustered.

“Merlin!” Gwaine says, somewhat surprised. “Can I help you with anything?” Beside him, he feels Percival go slightly tense.

“I’d just like to apologize.” Merlin says. “You know, for that night.”

Gwaine takes a few minutes before he realizes which night Merlin’s referring to. He waves a hand at him. “No, you don’t have to. If there is anyone who is supposed to apologize, that’s me. It was very rude and disrespectful of me.”

“Er.” Merlin’s blushing and Gwaine chances a look at Arthur to see how he’s taking this all in.

To his surprise, there’s no hint of jealousy in the man’s eyes, just complete adoration for Merlin.

“Still, I’m sorry I cannot return your feelings.” Merlin tells him. “It’s just that… it’s always been Arthur for me. And I don’t think I can have my heart open for anyone else.”

“It is okay, Merlin.” Gwaine says. “We’ve been friends long before I tried to win your heart, remember? We’re going back to that. We’ll be the best of friends. So promise me you’ll write me a letter every now and then?”

Merlin nods as silent tears fall down his sharp cheekbones. They share a few moments in silence.

“Well, I have better try to talk to Lancelot now. Goodbye Gwaine.” Merlin says when they seem to have run out of anything to say.

Gwaine smiles at him. “You do that.”

They share a quick hug. And when Merlin leaves his and Percival’s side to talk to Guinevere and Lancelot, Gwaine finds himself reminiscing the adventures he has had here in Camelot.

He takes a moment to look at the place he’s called home for the past few months. He looks up and stares at the ornate design of the high ceiling. He studies the tall windows and the polished floors. He looks at the people he’s grown to truly love and he finds it all too bittersweet.

He’s going to leave it all soon, and for long, no one knows exactly.

But with that time away, he’s certain that it will help him move on from all his heartaches here completely. And he’ll spend these times away with Percival. And who knows, in their time away, he just might discover what it truly means to love and be loved in return.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him back to the present.

“Shall we pack our things?” Percival asks him and he sees the unadulterated joy in Percival’s eyes. And when he knows that it’s him that’s put a smile on the other man, he knows he’s made the right decision.

“Let’s do it.” He answers with a smile of his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure you tell me what you think about the story so far! Please leave a comment! Thank you so much! <3


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